


Whumptober 2020: Dragon Age

by MoonCrisis



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: A loyal dog dies, Abandonment, Angst, Anxiety, Body Horror, Character Death, DLC Spoilers, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Drowning, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Limb loss, Murder, Nightmares, One Shot Collection, Regret, The Blight (Dragon Age), Whump, Whumptober 2020, some AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonCrisis/pseuds/MoonCrisis
Summary: A collection of Dragon Age one-shots centering around sad, dark, and spooky prompts.-------1 - Inquisitor remains confined to a dungeon2 - DA4 protag confronts Solas with the Inquisitor3 - Zevran meeting the Warden4 - A curious dwarf investigates the earthquakes5 - Grey Wardens fleeing during a Blight6 - The turning of a darkspawn Broodmother7 - Compassion becoming Cole8 - Hawke left in the Fade9 - Mythal betraying the Evanuris10 - The Inquisitor losing an arm11 - Iron Bull becoming a Tal-Vashoth12 - An elven Inquisitor investigating uthenera chambers13 - A group and their dog visit Crestwood during the Fifth Blight
Kudos: 4
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Into darkness, unafraid

Prompt 1 - waking up restrained / shackled / hanging

Background: The “Inquisitor” was never released from the Inquisition’s prison after the explosion of the Conclave. They are kept in a jail cell until their mark is needed to seal a rift and they are taken against their will to seal them. Will use they/them for the Inquisitor so it can be left to the imagination of who they are.

-

The Inquisitor struggled to open their eyes, the was pain searing. Fortunately, that pain was marginalized due to how much the rest of their body hurt in comparison. What hurt the most were the shackles. No matter how much blood was caked on those shackles, their sharp edges cut in the skin repeatedly. The constant friction of the shackles made it so that none of the wounds had a chance to heal; any type of healing that occurred was rendered ineffective when the Inquisitor moved. The Inquisitor wished that the irritation only stayed at their ankles and wrists, but the irritation from chafing was beginning to spread up their forearms and calves.

They blinked a few times, which proved useless. The jail cell was completely dark, there was no use in trying to see anything other than their immediate surroundings. How long has it been since they’ve been down here? How long has the Inquisition been fighting Corypheus? Memories became a haze when each day nearly consisted of the same thing. As they were sorting through their confused haze of memory, a particular piercing pain ran through their body. The Inquisitor bit back a wince. It because of pain like this that they tried to sleep as much as possible, it helped ease the pain. In the Fade, their body was fine. Everything was fine. They never attended that damn Conclave. The Inquisition never existed. Everything was okay, but more importantly, nothing hurt. The trauma and discomfort greeted them when they awoke - why did they always seem to wake up? They solemnly wished each time as they fell asleep that it would be the last. 

The Inquisitor’s eyes began to well with tears. How they managed to still produce tears confused the Inquisitor. The tears slowly rolled down their face and their neck until soaked by a ragged, stained tunic. The tears’ path left not only wetness but a stinging trail. This wetness was the only moisture the Inquisitor’s dirt caked skin had witnessed in some time. After the tears dried away, stark, twisting lines were left on their face.

They took a deep breath. As soon as Corypheus was dead and the rifts were gone, perhaps the Inquisition would let them go. They didn’t blame the Inquisition, it did what it had to do. A random person survived the Conclave and was possibly saved by Divine Justinia herself? They would be skeptical also. Being held alone in a jail cell for months was a product of fear from the Chantry, from the population of Thedas. Anything intrinsically tied to the Veil and the Fade made people scared. It reminded them of the Blights, the countless wars, the inevitability of death and the uncertainty that followed it.

The shuffle of footsteps broke the Inquisitor from their thoughts. The Inquisition must need them again. No, not them, the _Anchor_. Leliana walked through a large wooden door and entered the cell. The light seeping from the corridor forced the Inquisitor to cringe and blink instinctively.

“You know the routine,” she stated to the Inquisitor as a warrior and two mages stood at her side.

-  
(alternate ending)

The shuffle of footsteps broke the Inquisitor from their thoughts. The Inquisition must need them again. No, not them, the _Anchor_. They heard the creak of door opening, but there were no torches or sconces lit. Fear spiked in the Inquisitor as the footsteps grew louder. When the figures were close enough he recognized that instead of Leliana, it was Solas, Cassandra, and Varric.

“Inquisitor…we need to hurry if we are to avoid being seen,” Solas whispered in the darkness.

Cassandra and Varric worked to undo the shackles, while Solas took watch in case any guards became curious.

“Inquisitor…I’m so sorry I went with this as long as I did. Please, forgive me if you can,” Cassandra pleaded as she unlocked a shackle.

“This is no way for anyone to be treated. Fuck.” Varric’s voice was gruffer and raspier than usual.

The four of them were able to escape relatively unseen, but the Inquisition was quick to notice many prominent members go missing.


	2. The place where the sky was held back

Prompt 2 – pick who dies / collars / kidnapped

Background: **Trespasser spoilers.** The new protagonist of DA4 (all assumptions here as we have no info) has followed the Inquisitor and helped them in their efforts to stop Solas. Protag is female and will remain nameless, all for your imagination. The time has arrived, and the new protag is joining the Inquisitor for the final confrontation. This will feature a romanced Solas.

-

How did she get in this mess? A sigh escaped her lips as she followed the Inquisitor into Skyhold. The past year and a half were a blur. She went from being a servant of the Pavus family in Tevinter, to working for Dorian and the Inquisitor. Dorian had approached her slowly, asking her to do various weird errands around town until he finally approached her about working as a spy. Those errands he sent her on tested her ability of secrecy, problem solving, and time management. One of them even had her pretending to be another Altus' servant during a night of extravagantly planned murders. She was entirely oblivious of these tests until Dorian approached her about working for him and the Inquisitor. Dorian was a prominent figure in Tevinter, so he couldn’t directly work with the “Inquisition” publicly any longer. He and Maevaris were making changes in Tevinter, but there was only so much he could do, and it took time.

She looked around her, Skyhold stood strongly despite being mostly abandoned. It was strange, Skyhold still felt eerily empty despite the large group of people that were gathered here together. The Inquisitor’s old companions had reunited for what they were going to attempt. She looked at her own group. So many people for one common cause – to stop Fen’Harel. She didn’t feel sympathy for Fen’Harel like the Inquisitor did, but she was thankful for the opportunity Dorian gave her. Without it, she would probably still be stuck in Tevinter serving the Pavus family, some other altus, or worse. The Qunari invasion had wreaked havoc in Tevinter, especially parts of Minrathous, so who knew what would have become of her if she stayed.

A shiver went up her spine. She was worried what her life would have been like in Tevinter, but she was about to face an Elvhen god, or an Evanuris, as the Inquisitor had told her. She had never met “Solas” in any capacity and only had the descriptions that the Inquisitor, Dorian, and a few of the other companions to base her assumptions on. She had, however, seen some of what Fen’Harel was capable of, and not the “Solas” the others spoke of. When tracking Fen’Harel, her team was always just a few steps behind him. They only found remnants left in his wake. They found destruction. And death. Her and her group always made sure to chew specific herbs every night because Solas was a somniari. They couldn’t take the risk of entering the Fade while dreaming. Even her dwarven companion had to chew the herbs in case of anything.

“Are we ready?” the Inquisitor asked everyone after a deep sigh. No one verbally replied to the Inquisitor, only giving silent affirmations. It was time, they were all going to try to physically enter the Fade. Everyone was scared. Through research and the such, it was discovered that Fen’Harel most likely created the Veil at Skyhold. Their best guess was that he was going to tear the Veil down at the same place. If not, well…Thedas would probably be destroyed in some capacity. She knew Dorian had been physically in the Fade with the Inquisitor before, but even he still looked deathly afraid. The outcomes of this weren’t the best. They could all end up stuck in the Fade, defeat Fen'Harel but die trying, or fail and allow the Veil to be torn, killing an unknown amount of people across Thedas.

Her and her group managed to wrangle one eluvian from the followers of Fen’Harel. It was a tough fight and she almost died if not for elfroot and her teammates. His followers were fervent and powerful, he obviously chose them for a reason. The eluvian itself was deactivated, but they didn’t need it activated. At least that was the hope. For months, Dorian’s personally chosen mages worked on the eluvian. Through countless calculations, one seemed to line up. Just one. And it could only be done once, so it had to work. Despite the mirror being deactivated, it still held a latent thrum of energy. Instead of trying to unlock the eluvian and attempt to understand its foreign elven magic, they were going to repurpose it. Try to temporarily rewrite the eluvian’s magic, in a way. She didn’t really understand the semantics behind it, it was very complicated.

The mages began their spell casting. There were roughly almost fifty mages working on the eluvian, all having consumed an extraordinary amount of lyrium. The combination of lyrium usage and blood magic gave the air an overwhelming metallic smell. The eluvian flickered for a minute or so until it seemed to settle. It gave off a sickish grey hue.

“Not how I remember an eluvian looking,” Varric said off-handedly and Sera groaned. The Inquisitor’s companions talked amongst themselves.

She turned back to her own group. It felt like they had been together for so long. She looked toward the one she became the closest with and then the others.

“Thank you for being here until the very end,” she told them. It was trite, but she meant it. What else was there to say when the world was possibly about to end? The Inquisitor made a signal for them to start moving.

Everyone made their way to the manipulated eluvian and slowly walked through it. The mages were instructed to only leave the eluvian open for a certain amount of time. If they didn’t make it back, they didn’t make it back.

The Fade was worse than she had ever imagined. In dreams, the Fade was contorted for the dreamer. It was not contorted now. This is what Fen’Harel wanted to bring to Thedas? How could this possibly be right? How could Elven society even thrive when the Fade looked and felt like this? The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She wasn’t angry at just Fen’Harel and his followers, but the Inquisitor. How could no one know who he truly was? Why couldn’t the Inquisition stop him? If the Inquisitor couldn’t stop him, no one would be able to. These thoughts ran through her mind as they all walked through mangles of lyrium and a maze of what seemed to be distorted ancient elven ruins. It was an abnormal representation of Skyhold, hardly recognizable.

“Reminds me of Vir Dithara almost but with less books,” Dorian said lightly. He was trying to lighten the mood, as if that was currently possible.

She thought it was suspicious that none of his “followers” were attacking them, but they kept walking through the ruins.

Time flowed oddly in the Fade, she had no judgment of how much time had already passed before they saw him. There he was – Fen’Harel. Fear suddenly coursed through her body, causing her to stand still. The Inquisitor’s grand plan was heavily flawed. Everyone knew this, but it was the only chance they had. How does someone combat an Evanuris, especially one with full control of the Fade? The one who created the Fade? You don’t, but they were certainly going to try.

There was no way to actually derail Fen’Harel’s plan, so the best route was for them was to delay it. Then hopefully with the time gained, keep trying to find a way to stop him. Or let the Veil be torn down. Even if they couldn’t stop him, allowing people more time, even the smallest amount, would always be the solution.

When the Inquisitor had defeated Corypheus, the orb was destroyed and Fen’Harel left it behind when he disappeared. It took a lot of time, but they were able to find all the pieces and somewhat put it back together. Dorian, his contacts, and Morrigan fiddled with the orb in an attempt to try to understand it. They didn’t fully figure it out, but they did know it was capable of holding energy, massive amounts of it. With a lot of testing, including a few deaths, Dorian and Morrigan managed to make the orb kickback any magic that was placed in it. If the Inquisitor could get close enough when Fen’Harel was tearing the Veil, perhaps the orb could disrupt it by directing the same energy back at him. It was risky. Too risky? Yes, but it was the only thing they could come up with.

“I see you made it,” Fen’Harel's voice rang through the Fade.

“I did. I made a promise and I’m going to try my hardest to keep it,” the Inquisitor replied.

Silence lingered and the Inquisitor spoke again.

“Please, Solas. This does not have to be done. You know that.”

Fen’Harel turned away from her and softly said, “Ma vhenan, thank you for keeping your promise.” He raised his left hand upward, it somehow seemed to have a version of the anchor.

Everyone charged forward except her. Her companions, the Inquisitor... Spells were being cast and weapons were being used, but she couldn’t move, she was too afraid. All this time she spent trying to stop Fen’Harel and she couldn’t even participate in the fight.

Within seconds of the attempt to fight against him, the others were turned to stone. The Inquisitor told her that Fen’Harel had this ability. Why did they even try to stop him? It was no use. The Inquisitor and her were the only ones not stone. She ran behind a tall stalk of blue lyrium as she watched the Inquisitor interact with him. She assumed she herself wasn't stone because Fen’Harel hadn’t noticed her presence yet. It was probably due to her not rushing at him with the others. He was also distracted by the Inquisitor.

“No, Solas!” The Inquisitor cried as she stared at everyone.

“I am sorry.”

The Inquisitor moved a few steps closer to him.

“Do not. I know you have the orb. Please, I do not want to have to do the same to you.”

“I’ll die anyway, Solas. You will as well.”

“Stay back,” Fen’Harel simply stated as he grimaced.

Fury ran through her mind. The Inquisitor was doing nothing! All of this, the time, the resources, they were a waste! They should have just stayed and waited for him to tear the Veil, if this was the case.

She nocked an arrow and steadied her bow on the lyrium stalk before her. Fen'Harel still hadn't noticed her yet. She knew only had one shot because once she let the arrow fly, Fen’Harel would kill her.

Hesitation filled her and her hands slightly began to shake. An arrow used on Fen’Harel would be futile. There was no way she would be able to harm him, could she? If she was able to distract him for even the shortest time, perhaps the Inquisitor could get closer with the orb.

Powerful magic began to pulsate from his left palm, and she shot the arrow.

Clutching her stomach, the Inquisitor fell to the ground. Blood was rapidly seeping; the arrow was a clean shot.

“Vhenan!” Fen’Harel shouted, spotting the female holding her bow behind veins of lyrium. He killed her instantaneously and turned back to his Inquisitor.

“V-var lath vir...suledin,” the Inquisitor sputtered, suddenly feeling afraid despite everything she had faced and fought.

He bent down near her and cradled her. His dreaded fear came true. Dying alone. Even though the Inquisitor would have died in the process of him tearing the Veil, at least she would have been there with him. He wouldn’t have been alone. But now he would be.

The Inquisitor gurgled blood, no longer able to speak or breathe. Solas stared at her with guilt and regret laden eyes.

A huge flash of energy suddenly blasted across the entirety of the area. Solas’ anchor had been too close to the orb for a prolonged period of time. It had absorbed the energy directly from his anchor. Solas looked at his hand and his face twisted angrily. He still had the anchor, but it was not nearly strong enough now to tear down the entirety of the Veil. Sorrow then overcame him. The blast from the orb destroyed nearly everything in its radius – aside from him. His Inquisitor, friends from the Inquisition, they were all gone. They were the ash that fell in swathes around him.


	3. A lone crow

Prompt 3 – manhandled / forced to their knees / held at gunpoint

Background: _ **TW: suicide ideation. **_**Dragon Age: Origins spoilers**. From the point of view of Zevran in Dragon Age: Origins when the Warden encounters him for the first time. Warden is a warrior and is nameless; the rest will be up to your imagination. 

-

The sun was still high in the sky and Zevran knew there was not much time left until a man named Alistair, another Grey Warden accompanying him, and their group came through. He had sent a female crow to catch the attention of the Warden and Alistair. He knew this would work because the Wardens were such _honorable_ people, trying to stop the fifth Blight and all. No matter the fact that anyone could become a Grey Warden despite their pasts. This Warden and Alistair had to be vastly special people if them and their team were wanted dead. Ah, yes…their team. That would probably be the biggest hurdle for him and his own tiny crew. There was no way that the others in the Warden’s company wouldn’t be a challenge to fight.

Zevran looked around the ambush area. The traps were sufficiently set. Perhaps if he got unlucky, the Warden and their group would get caught in them. It would make quick work for him, unfortunately. His crew would have been suspicious if he didn’t appear to put forth a full effort to stop the Warden and Alistair. So, naturally, he put forth his best effort. On the surface he did, at least.

If he wanted to truly stop the Warden and their companions, he would have set this up much differently. Zevran let his mind ponder this subject as he waited. For starters, he would never stage this ambush during the day. It is preposterous to attempt an assassination on such physically capable individuals in the middle of the day. Sure, it is much easier to see during the day, but that is an advantage also given to the other side. He would have set the ambush at night, preferably late enough that sleepiness would be a given. People were clumsier when they needed sleep. They made more mistakes, fatal mistakes. The traps he hid would also be more meticulously placed. Zevran made effort to notice people’s feet during combat. Over the years he had practiced luring his marks while fighting, bringing them to the area of the traps. The moment when the other person became even slightly distracted, Zevran made his final move.

The sound of rapid and heavy footsteps were heard in the distance. It was a group of people running towards the area. Zevran instructed the rest of his crew to take their places. He swore to himself that despite the poorly staged ambush, he would fight earnestly. After all, he didn’t want his last hurrah to be lousy. Zevran wanted to feel that thrill and rush of the fight for a final time.

The footsteps stopped. They were now there. Zevran heard the others rush the Warden and begin fighting. It was time. He took a deep breath and ran from his spot to the fight.

“Be careful around these traps!” A red-haired woman screamed towards Alistair and the Warden.

Zevran chuckled to himself as he deflected a sword from a young-looking blonde man, surmising that this was probably the Alistair in his orders.

The fighting was easy, it was that scantily clad mage that was the problem. The Warden’s mage had already taken out two of his own. The traps proved useless in the end. There were only three of them now against the Warden’s group. It wouldn’t be too long now. The seconds that followed were a blur of magic and clashing of weapons. Zevran was the only person of his crew left standing. The Warden and their companions all had their weapons readily pointed at him.

Zevran fell to his knees. It was time, now. He looked at the person who held their blade inches away from his throat. He thought to himself that they were quite striking for a Grey Warden. Maybe…just maybe he had some life still left in him. Perhaps he could join the Warden’s crew. Do some good with the tainted skills he'd learned.

The Warden was quite the quiet person, he noticed as he made his compelling offer to join them. He didn’t know what the Warden was thinking or considering as they said nothing in response. Their companions, however, were quite vocal in their opinions. Even if he died here, Zevran was amused that the cute redhead was arguing on his behalf.

The blade of the Warden’s sword came down heavy and swift. Zevran heard faded arguing and shuffled footfalls as the group walked off. He looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful light blue, fluffy clouds slowly rolling across. A strong cough shook his chest. Zevran let his thoughts drift to Rinna as his body heaved in a struggle to breathe.


	4. Child of the stone

Prompt 4 – caged / buried alive / collapsed building

Background: Inspired by the **Descent DLC for Inquisition, spoilers ahead for DLC**. A curious male surface dwarf (will remain nameless) wants to find out for himself why the earthquakes are happening on the Storm Coast.

-

Another tremor shook the trees, making the animals scutter about in fear and surprise. The Inquisitor still hadn’t arrived, thankfully. If the Inquisitor and their team made it to the Deep Roads before he did, he would probably get caught. These quakes have been rocking the Storm Coast for months now and were growing closer in frequency. Where was the Inquisition? Weren’t they supposed to protect the people of Thedas? Yes, the Breach was sealed and that weird blighted Vint was dead, but instead of investigating the Storm Coast, the Inquisition was somewhere in the highlands trying to find a dead Inquisitor.

He looked around his small camp thinking about what could be buried beneath it. It wasn’t the wisest idea for him to investigate the Deep Roads by himself, he knew that. Everyone knew that. A person doesn’t just simply decide to go to the darkspawn. But he felt the need to. He had to find out what was creating these disturbances on the Coast. He knew that the Inquisitor would eventually make it down here, but how much could he trust the Inquisition to truly tell the truth? As it was, the Inquisition skirted around the truth surrounding the real cause of the Breach and the death of Divine Justinia.

He took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before exhaling. These were the last moments he would have fresh air, albeit humid air. He gathered up his rations, there should be two nights worth packed. With a grunt he stood up and sheathed his axe. It was time to get going. Over the past few weeks, he had been observing the dwarfs at the lyrium mines. He committed to memory their postings and rotations. It was midday now, and there was going to be a rotation change. He took one last look at his bedroll and smothered fire. Hopefully he’d be able to come back.

There was an entrance to the underground levels on the eastern edge of the Coast. This entrance was the least guarded one due to its proximity to the ocean and its arduous tunnels. He had already been through here quite a few times, so the other dwarfs wouldn’t pose any problems. The issues would start after he managed to truly enter the Deep Roads. Dwarfs who lived underground only ventured so far. The fear of darkspawn was enough to drive anyone away.

He entered the dank tunnel, the stones feeling extra slick against his boots. His right hand twitched in nervousness. There weren’t any spiders here before, but he still remained cautious. Those bugs tended to just pop out when they were least expected.

Skittering interrupted his thoughts.

“Of fucking course,” he grumbled as he grabbed his axe. A spider spotted him and began to chitter loudly as it rushed in his direction. He didn’t move but instead waited for the spider to get closer to him. He was a surface dwarf; this wasn’t his territory. The spider had a greater advantage here than he did. The spider was closer now, but he still waited. As soon as the spider raised its frontal legs and bared its fangs offensively, he took a forceful swing at its thorax. The pieces of the it fell with a thud and silence filled the tunnel. He waited a few minutes to ensure nothing else was primed to attack him.

After he affirmed that he was alone again, he continued on the path. Before long, he saw the flicker of torches ahead of him. He was near the mines now and the shift in rotation should still be happening. He quickened his pace and discovered there was no one at the tunnel’s exit. There was a group of dwarfs to the left of him sitting and chatting, clearly ignoring their posts. The various pulleys and carts that lined the mines stood still. This was exactly what he needed, no one should spot him.

He turned left as he entered the mine, careful to not make any odd sounds that would attract the others. There was a constructed bridge ahead of him that led to another section lined with carts, but it also led to another tunnel blocked by rubble. He made his way across the bridge, sticking closely to the shadows. The earthquakes had loosened the rubble that blocked this tunnel’s entrance. The gap was large enough for someone to squeeze through. It was by pure luck that no one had already resealed this entrance for darkspawn. He made a silent prayer and wedged himself through the rubble, using his arms to steady himself against the chilly ore. A few pebbles and stones rolled down, which caused some commotion amongst the miners, but they were apt to ignore it and go back to their work.

As he made his way through it, darkness filled his vision. He steeled himself. Darkness was to be expected; he was heading toward darkspawn territory. He chuckled to himself as he slowly made his way through the gap. This would be a terrible time for an earthquake to occur.

He suddenly was able to wiggle his fingers - he had almost made it through! Excitement coursed through him. Soon enough, he found himself free. He blinked a few times, trying to make his vision adjust faster and squinted at the ground below him.

Was that…lyrium? Miniscule veins of lyrium lined the stone beneath him, giving off a faint blue hue and subtle glow. He looked around him, those small veins of lyrium were imbedded all over. He followed the trails of them in awe. He didn’t have stone sense, but the lyrium was alluring. The veins grew larger in size as he walked on. He traced them with his fingers, they felt both smooth and rough to the touch.

Suddenly, the walls began to softly shake, growing more violent as the seconds passed. He ran hard, despite not knowing what was waiting for him ahead. He felt debris bounce off his body as he ran. Even after the quake was finished, he kept running. The adrenaline coursing through his body didn’t allow him to register the shaking had stopped minutes ago. It was only when he was finally out of breath did he stop and look around him.

He was in a giant cavern that was filled with warped stalks of lyrium. They crawled up the sides of the stone and hung from the ceiling in a contorted variety of twists and knots. He looked behind him, the tunnel he came through was gone, it had fully collapsed. There wasn’t another exit to this cavern. He was trapped.

Fear filled him only momentarily, as he was enthralled by the lyrium.

Was it possible that he heard singing in the distance?


	5. In death, sacrifice (Pt. 1)

Prompt 5 – on the run / failed escape / rescue

Background: A female (nameless) Grey Warden during a Blight is left by herself in darkspawn territory.

-

“You gotta run, come on! Live now, fight later!” She screamed toward her friend, a fellow Grey Warden. He was lagging behind her, a shriek had given him deep cuts in his left calf. The night was in full bloom with the moon high in the sky. Streaks of moonlight came through the layers of leaves on the tree branches. This would normally provide great cover for hiding, but a Grey Warden could never hide from darkspawn. Not for long.

“No…you run. Go, find the other Grey Wardens and come back to fend off the remaining darkspawn. Let them know we found a nest here – broodmother and all,” he resolutely replied to her. He stopped running and stood in place holding his staff.

“That’s it? You’re just going to fight those darkspawn by yourself? We have years until the Calling!”

“Yes, that’s it. It’s cliché, as the Orlesians put it, but I’m only slowing you down. The only chance we have to defeat this nest of darkspawn is if you get to the others and bring them here,” he looked deeply at her and continued, “Remember, in death, sacrifice.”

Her eyes welled with tears. How could he just make this decision?

“You promised! You promised we would face the darkspawn together when the Calling started for either one of us. That we would die together!”

Her friend looked down, narrowing his eyes, and replied, “I’m sorry. There’s no other way -” Guttural vocalizations and the sloshing of mud from heavy steps interrupted his words.

He raised his head back up and told her, “You have to go. Now. I can only hold them back for so long. If you don’t leave now, my dying here will have been a waste,” chuckling toward the end.

She took a few seconds to just stare at him. He was right, if she didn’t leave now and alert the others, there would be many more deaths.

“Please, go now!” He pleaded as he casted a protective ward on her.

She walked forward, grasped his hand, and gently said, “Thank you. For everything. May peace be with you.” He squeezed her hand in response.

The footsteps grew louder. Before she could regret her decision, she began to swiftly run through the swampy forest without a look back. Her running made loud smacks against the mud, contrasting those of the darkspawn. They weren’t in the Deep Roads now, but they were earlier. It was how they discovered the horrifying broodmother. Because of the Blight, they didn’t have to venture very far into the Deep Roads to discover everything. The Blight slowly brought it all closer to the surface. Earlier, they were in the Deep Roads, and now she was running through mud. Earlier, her entire team was alive.

She heard the echoes of fighting behind her. Whizzes of the electricity cackled, followed by the roaring of fire.

Then silence ensued. He was gone. The protective ward he placed on her slowly faded away. Tears threatened to slip from her eyes again. She blinked them back and tried hard to keep them away, tears would not help the poor visibility she already had in this darkness. The combination of grief and physical exhaustion formed warm pains across her chest. She dug the soles of her feet further in the mud with each step, she had to get to the main camp.

Groans from the darkspawn sounded off behind her. They weren’t too close, for which she was thankful for. He had bought her some time. She stopped running and took a moment to catch her breath. Which way was the camp again? The whole swamp looked the same at night! She took a few deep breathes to steady herself. If she let fear overwhelm her now, she’d have no chance. When her team made their way through the swamp that morning, they had tied yellow markers on the trees. All she needed to do was follow those markers. She squinted her eyes and focused on the area around her.

There! There was a marker they placed earlier. Screeches from the darkspawn grew closer. It definitely sounded like there were less of them, but still too many for her to fight on her own. She focused on the markers as she ran forward and weaved through the trees.

She cleared her mind as she made her way toward the Grey Warden camp. Becoming a Grey Warden was the best thing she had done with her life, and it was something she would never regret. She wasted so much of her life with trivialities. It took seeing the real impact of the Blight, of mass death, to know that she needed to contribute in some way. Her whole family was slaughtered as a result of this damn Blight. Yes, she wouldn’t be able to live a full life, but none of that mattered. If killing darkspawn meant that other people had the chance to live, then it was worth it. Peace for Thedas was worth it.

Her chest heaved from breathlessness. In the distance she could see wisps of fire. It was the camp! A sigh of relief came from her. She didn’t know how much stamina she had left, but she knew couldn’t keep running for very long.

She allowed a breath to fill her chest, making sure that her lungs felt full before exhaling. It was about a hundred meters away. She could make it. She had to make it. Her armor rattled as she poured the last of her energy to sprint to the camp. The trees were blurs at the corners of her vision, and the mud coated her leg braces.

Sobs wracked her body when she arrived at the camp. Everyone was gone. There were a few fallen Grey Wardens around the area, and everything was in disarray. A fight seemed to have broken out and a few stayed to fight the darkspawn, while the others went to find another group. Exactly what had happened to her. She was supposed to find others to go back down in the Deep Roads. That was the plan.

The sound of her crying carried through the muggy swamp. She didn’t have the stamina to fight or run anymore, and her head ached from the constant rushes of adrenaline.

Swiftly, a hurlock tackled her to the ground. She screamed, grabbed the daggers at her hips, and began to stab at it frantically. It slumped against her. She didn’t try to push it off, she didn’t move. Her eyes were wide with fear. Another darkspawn appeared before her and threw the dead one to the side. She tightened her grip on the daggers and got up to fight, but the darkspawn kicked her strongly in the stomach. As she recoiled from the pain, she dropped the daggers in the mud and desperately began to search for them. The darkspawn kicked her in her side, the pop of broken ribs audible. Involuntary fits of coughing shook her as she stared at the genlock in front of her. Before she could try to retaliate against it, a different darkspawn grabbed her by the calves and began to drag her away.

“No, No!” She screamed, clawing at what she could in the wet and slimy ground, trying to find any sort of leverage.


	6. In death, sacrifice (Pt. 2)

Prompt 6 – get it out / no more / stop, please

Background: _**TW: suicide ideation, disturbing themes, body horror. Please proceed with caution.** _This chapter is about broodmothers from DA:O. The female grey warden (from the previous chapter) is taken by darkspawn and they attempt to turn her into a broodmother. 

-

She clawed and dug at the mud around her. She tried to grab at the various plant roots that were poorly growing. Nothing. There was nothing for her to grasp. Her cries became louder as the darkspawn dragged her. The ground's sludge filled her nostrils and mouth from the force of the darkspawn's pull. It was salty and incredibly pungent.

As she realized why they hadn’t killed her yet, her eyes instinctively went wide, allowing the mud to stain her vision. She ignored the stinging in her eyes and the itching of her eyelids. She stumbled to get her left hand into her hip satchel, but it was empty. While the darkspawn had been dragging her, the satchel had opened, and the contents were lost.

The genlock following them found her actions strange and decided to grab her arms. As the genlock bent down to grab her them, she grabbed the sword it had sheathed and stabbed it. The darkspawn that was holding her legs turned around to investigate the flurry of noise. It snarled and leapt towards her, and she managed to slash it on its left arm. As it staggered back, she took the moment to regain her footing and stand back up. With a scream, she ran towards it and pushed the sword through the darkspawn's abdomen and quickly withdrew it. The darkspawn fell to the ground.

She huffed and looked at her surroundings through dirt caked eyelashes. More darkspawn were slowly surrounding her, she had no choice but to stand her ground. Her hands tightened around the hilt of the weighty sword. She was more accustomed to daggers or short swords, but it was all she had. The darkspawn didn’t unsheathe any of their weapons but simply sprinted toward her. She was going to kill as many as possible, then herself. A dead woman was no use to the darkspawn.

The flight was a blur. She swung and stabbed at anything she saw moving. In frustration, a darkspawn grabbed its axe and the cheek of it to knock her off her feet. Before she fully fell, a hurlock grabbed her by the hair.

It was time. She primed the sword, but before she could plunge the sword below her chest, the same darkspawn took its axe and used its force to swing the cheek at her hands. The sword splashed on the ground away from her. In an act of frenzy, she burrowed her nails into the hands that were in her hair. She still had chance. She still had to have a chance.

The darkspawn with the axe sheathed it and walked closer to her while she flailed. It took her neck in its hands and squeezed.

She gasped shallow breaths. The darkspawn finally realized that she was more trouble than she was worth. She was now going to die and pass through to the Fade. She was ready. These thoughts comforted her as spots lined the corner of her eyes and she lost consciousness.

-

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

The sound of water stirred her to consciousness. She slowly blinked her dry eyes tried to focus. Her sight was extremely fuzzy and filmy, her head felt heavy, and the entirety of her body was tender. Then, the smells hit her. She groaned as the stench of rotting flesh, dank water, and mildew filled her nose.

“What…” She barely rasped as she remembered everything and realized where she was. She was somewhere in the Deep Roads. How much time had passed? Where was she in the Deep Roads? Even if she managed to escape, it was highly unlikely she could make it out of these dwarven ruins. Escaping was useless, all she needed was a weapon to use on herself. It didn’t even have to be a weapon, anything sharp would work. If there was any substantial pit of water, she could attempt to drown herself. Or even travel to a high enough passageway and step off the side - she concluded that this would be the most efficient way.

She cursed to herself as she looked around her. Her vision was so blurry that she couldn’t make out anything useful on the sticky stone floors. She quickly learned that struggling against the restraints the darkspawn had tied only made them tighter around her wrists and ankles.

The sound of darkspawn grunts snapped her from her thoughts. She blinked rapidly; it didn't completely clear her vision, but it helped keep the filminess at bay.

Footsteps stopped in front of her, and she could now see the darkspawn in more clarity. It just stood there, unmoving. What was it doing? Why was it there? And then she heard it retch.

The darkspawn vomited above her forehead. It smelled of burnt flesh and ran down her face in slow, thick streaks, mixing with her tears. She was holding her breath but couldn’t for much longer. She didn’t want to open her mouth, but her nose was clogged from the crying and vomit. She wouldn’t open her mouth. She couldn’t.

After a few minutes, she gasped to breathe. The sour, putrid bile entered her mouth. She coughed and spat as much as could, but she still felt it slowly inch down the back of her throat. The darkspawn walked away, satisfied.

“No…no,” she slowly whined, her voice barely above a whisper due to it being coated by the bile.

Time slowly became irrelevant. All she could feel was fear. Was it fear? Emotions and cognitive thought seemed to slip away. Every time she heard footsteps come near her, her eyes would glaze and she would behave as a husk. Because she was one. Resisting was useless, all it accomplished was more pain, more torture. There was nothing she could do. She just hoped that the darkspawn would force their flesh down her throat instead of vomit. The vomit was far worse than darkspawn flesh. Anything was better than the vomit. She could swallow and gulp the flesh down in chunks. If she was fast enough, she had a chance to taste nothing. 

But maybe the vomit wasn’t the worst.

Maybe they didn’t have to force her to eat the darkspawn flesh.

Because, how else could she quench the hunger that began to slowly grow inside of her?

-  
(alternate ending)

The echo of clinking armor and clashing weapons were heard in the distance. Was it in the distance? Where was she? Who was she? What was happening? Where was she, again?

A group of Grey Wardens fought off the darkspawn before making their way to her. The leader of the group let out a heavy sigh and told his crew, “There is nothing we can do for her now. We are too late. Dagger, please.”

A woman to his left handed him a dagger. He bent down to look at the fallen Grey Warden.

“You fought well. Now, rest,” he spoke to her gently as he supported her in his arms. He plunged the dagger deep beneath her breast and held her until he saw her chest rise and fall for the final time.


	7. Compassion

Prompt 7 – support / carrying / enemy to caretaker

Background: ** _ TW: Depressing themes._** **Dragon Age: Inquisition spoilers. Slight AU.** Cole’s point of view after he was arrested by the Templars.

-

A heavily armored templar threw the boy roughly in the cell and slammed the gate. He turned to the boy and harshly spoke, “Go ahead and try anything, mage. Your life will end much quicker.”

He stared and scrutinized Cole for about a minute before he left. Cole hadn’t moved from he position he'd landed in. What was the point? If there was one, he failed to realize it. He simply let his left cheek rest upon the cold stone. It felt nice against his wounded and bruised skin. This was a small comfort he could find some joy in. Perhaps the only comfort he would know. He let out a deep sigh of momentary relief. The stone cooled his skin and he was finally alone. There were no templars…no father.

_No Bunny._

He tried to push the thought of her out of his mind, but the thought was intrusive. He didn’t want to think about her. He didn’t want to. But he was forced to. His eyes watered but no tears fell. All he wanted to do was protect her. Protect mother.

It had been years since then, but it still felt so recent. The memories were seared in his mind, forever an afterimage. He wished he could vividly remember the few good moments that occurred in his life. The moments with mother and Bunny, but they were so hazy compared to the bad ones. It was like his mind didn’t want him to remember them. Why? He closed his eyes and focused. He had to remember them. He had to. If he didn’t, who would? They would not be forgotten. He wouldn’t let them be.

\--

_“Cole, Cole! Why are you not wearing your coat? It’s cold outside! We won’t leave until you and Bunny have your coats. Put on yours and then help her with hers. I’ll wait here,” his mother kindly chastised him as she patted his head. He ran to put on his homemade coat and then helped his younger sister._

_“Mama, we’re ready!” Cole excitedly replied as he came back with Bunny. He always cherished these moments with the three of them while his father was away. Mother always planned fun things to do. They didn’t have much, but she tried her hardest._

_“Okay! Are we ready to see the festival the village prepared?” She asked as she led them out of the small cottage. The children smiled widely in response and she laughed._

_They lived on the outskirts of the village, but it did not take long for them to reach its small square. They village was quite poor, but the people celebrated. Celebration was a small reprieve from the chores and grind of each day._

_“Over there! The lady is giving out pastries and sweets! Can we go?” Cole asked her._

_“Yes, yes…go on ahead. Don’t eat too many or give too many to Bunny!” She replied warmly as she watched her children happily run to the friendly vendor. Her smile slowly turned downward. She needed to take her children somewhere away, far away from this region of Ferelden. They only had so much time before her husband realized that Cole was beginning to exhibit magical abilities. He despised and hated magic. She knew that several generations before her, the family had mages, but she never thought…she never thought her own children could be mages. Sadly, she held no knowledge of anything arcane and had no idea where to start in helping Cole. And what about Bunny? Would her children be sent to the Circle and be possibly mistreated? Stories of the Templar Order were well-known not only in Ferelden, but across Thedas. Admittedly, she didn’t know anything factual about the Circle or templars, but it still scared her._

_As these thoughts drifted across her mind, her hand hovered above the dagger she kept discreetly tucked in her dress. What was she going to do? She noticed that Cole and Bunny came running back to her, pastries in hand._

_“Bunny and I thought you’d want some. But we didn’t know which one you would like,” Cole said sheepishly as him and Bunny showed her the variety of baked goods they brought back. It was a lot. She gave the vendor an apologetic smile and wave, and the vendor just politely nodded back, unbothered._

_She looked at the pastries before her and asked them, “Well, which is the best? We should save that one for last.”_

_Bunny and Cole agreed that the dense, honeyed fruitcake was the best. They snacked on the other pastries as they walked along the village’s main dirt road._

_The day passed speedily, and they walked back to their cottage. She cooked a stew for her and her children. They usually had stew most days, but it never seemed to bother them. Although today, Bunny and Cole were especially excited to eat the fruitcake after dinner. Pastries like these were rare for the family._

_Soon enough, the food was ready, and they all sat down to eat together. Dinner was pleasant, aside from when Bunny tried to talk while eating and proceeded to spit all over the table. Cole was kind enough to clear the bowls and spoons and bring back the fruitcake. She took a modest pinch and allowed her children to have the rest of this small indulgence that they were gifted._

_\--_

Cole's body felt lighter and his heartrate slowed. He was at ease.

“My friend…You are here,” Cole commented as he saw the Spirit of Compassion floating near him. It was the only friend he had. The only family he had left.

“I sensed your distress…I hope you were not alone for too long.”

“No, no…thank you. Thank you for helping me remember them.”

“It is what I am here to do. Do you feel better now? After seeing them again? Was it a good memory?”

“Yes, it was. Thank you, again.”

Cole drifted to sleep, ignoring the pains of hunger that settled in his stomach. The memory of sharing food with his family had to be enough.

Days and days passed. No templars entered that wing of the jail. No one checked on him. No one heard his pleas. But he was fortunately never alone.

“I wonder…what life would have been like if I was never a mage, spirit. I wish I was never a mage. They would still be alive. Everything would have been okay, right?” Cole faintly asked the spirit.

The spirit just looked upon him, not knowing what to say. Instead of forming an answer, it made Cole feel comfort and painlessness. There was nothing else it could do; this was the only thing.

More time passed and all that was left was Cole’s lifeless, withered body. The spirit looked at the lifeless body and felt its own sense of ease. Cole would no longer be in pain…but it also felt sadness that there was nothing else it could do. It glided closer to the body and reached out toward Cole, to embrace his body in one last act of compassion.

Cole’s chest suddenly moved as he took a breath. How? What happened? The spirit was confused. Where was he? He could no longer see Cole’s body. Why? Cole blinked a few times as he looked inquisitively at his arms and hands. The spirit realized that he was inside of Cole’s body – he was now Cole.


	8. The abyss

Prompt 8 – don’t say goodbye / abandoned / isolation

Background: **DA 2 and DA: Inquisition spoilers.** Hawke does not let the Inquisitor decide their fate; they choose to stay in the Fade themselves. Hawke here is a warrior, but the rest is up to you (no gender assigned), and whoever they romanced is also up to your imagination.

-

Stroud made his offer to stay in the Fade and allow the others more time to escape. Of course he would do that. Hawke didn’t know the Grey Warden personally, but Stroud was the one that saved Bethany. He allowed Bethany a second chance. The path of a Grey Warden was dangerous...but it was better than having another dead sibling. Another dead family member. And now Bethany would be the only member left of the Hawke family.

There was no way Hawke would have allowed Stroud to stay in the Fade. Sure, Hawke’s social and political pull was far stronger than Stroud's, but the Grey Warden was the only one capable of leading at Weisshaupt. How could Hawke just assume a leadership role there? The plight of the Grey Wardens was easy to identify and help with, but Hawke didn’t walk the path of a Warden. Stroud did, he knew what being a Warden was - to selflessly give up your life in pursuit of ending the Blights. Even if a Blight had ended and there was peace, the Calling still came for them mercilessly. The Wardens were still drawn to the darkspawn, to the Old Gods. How could Hawke try to lead and guide the Wardens while knowing nothing of their dedication and servitude?

Hawke turned to the left and glared at Stroud.

“No. You will go, Stroud. A Warden must help them rebuild, that’s your job! Corypheus is mine.”

The nightmare demon blocked the group’s path toward their exit and fidgeted in anticipation. Its eyes skittered in different directions, and its legs flickered alternatingly. Hawke could not let the Inquisitor wait any longer, the group had to return to Adamant immediately.

Before Stroud had a chance to argue, Hawke steadied their stance and ran toward the demon, sword in hand. Hawke wondered if this small act would even allow enough time for the others to leave. Would it? It was chance that needed to be taken.

Hawke ran until they were at the soft underbelly of the grotesque demon. A demon that took on the appearance of a tarantula littered with irregular, oozing holes, eyes, and spiny hair. Hawke then took a hard swing and hoped that it would be enough to stun the demon. Thick, acrid red blood spilled from the gash and stung Hawke as it spread across their skin.

“Go, now! Please!” Hawke yelled as they kept applying pressure on the sword, continuously cutting through the barbed flesh of the demon.

The Inquisitor nodded at Hawke in acknowledgement, and the group left. Hawke yanked the sword out and began to hack at the scuttling legs.

The rift opening closed. The Inquisitor did it, the Inquisition could now resume their efforts against Corypheus. Resume the efforts to defeat an enemy that apparently wasn’t defeated well enough the first time.

A deep chuckle came from the demon and all its wild, beady eyes focused on Hawke.

“Yes, Hawke. Remember why the Inquisition exists. Remember why they fight. Remember what you _failed_ to stop.”

The sword dropped from Hawke’s hands as they stared off to the warped emptiness of the Fade.

“No, you’re wrong. I did what I could. If I didn’t defeat Corypheus the first time, who knows what could have happened. I at least delayed him. I don’t regret anything. Good luck, demon.”

A deeper, amused chuckle came from the demon before it replied, “Oh, child. Do you not know that they will not come back for you?”

“I do not expect them to. I let them leave for a reason.”

“You let them leave? How foolish a thought! I let them leave.”

“Why then, demon? Letting the Inquisitor leave is a pretty terrible way to aid Corypheus,” Hawke retorted bitingly, staring directly at the demon.

“Yes, you do make a point. But I see everything in you. Everything about you. Your fears. It was too great a temptation to keep you all to myself.”

Hawke stared at the beast before them, eyes wide.

The demon continued in a lower voice, “Let’s start, shall we?”

_Hawke blinked and rubbed the sides of their temples. They were back in Kirkwall, laying in their bed. That was such a strange dream. Corypheus somehow managed to reawaken and teared a hole in the Veil? No, such a thing would not happen. Hawke and their companions took care of him. Everything is fine._

_Hawke threw the covers off, stood up, and walked over to their desk to look at recent correspondences. But…something was off. Wait, where was their lover? Why did the room look like this? It was morning wasn’t it? Why was the room covered in a shade of dusty red? That was not sunlight. Was it? It suddenly felt like they couldn’t remember anything anymore. In curiosity, they walked to window and peered out. The sky was a fusion of red, grey and black. Debris lined the streets of Kirkwall. Faint screaming was heard from below. Body parts were strewn across some of the stone walkways in front of the Chantry, and Anders was there staring at all the destruction he created – no, that Justice created._

_They immediately ran toward the bedroom’s door in an attempt to exit their home, but the door was locked. Frustrated, Hawke grabbed the sword they kept by the bed and hacked at the door. Nothing. No damage was inflicted. Hawke dropped the sword and began to jangle the locks of the window. Again, nothing. The window shook but it did not give any indication of opening. How? Why?_

_Soft voices were heard from the street._

_“Where’s Hawke?” Asked a voice that sounded like Fenris’._

_“I…I don’t know! We are just going to have to deal with it without Hawke,” Isabela reasoned to the others but more for herself._

_Hawke desperately banged on the window and yelled, “I’m here! Fenris,_ _Isabela!”_

“Child, how does it feel not being able to do what you want most? Not being able to be the Hawke everyone looks up to?”

_Hawke looked around them, trying to find the source of the voice._

_“Where are you? Who are you? Speak!”_

“Do you not remember? You were long abandoned and left to me.”

_Memories flooded Hawke’s mind. The nightmare demon was toying with them. This was all fake._

“Is it fake, Hawke? Is it? You have always feared this memory. That day. The fear that you were not able to stop Anders. That you allowed so many to die such brutal deaths.”

_Hawke looked around them and then back at the window before responding._

_“I did what I could. No one knew Anders would do that. It is regrettable, but I had no idea.”_

“No…but you always had a feeling, did you not? An ever-present wiggling feeling in the back of your mind that Anders was capable of doing something like this.”

_“Anders was a friend and helped me during my time at Kirkwall. I did not know, no one knew,” Hawke spoke with a slightly wavering voice._

“It does no good to hide behind such bravado, Champion. We will have a lot of time together, so your lies will continue to falter.”

The nightmare demon continued to present various memories and situations to Hawke, and eventually began to wear them down. The dreams never stopped, and Hawke had no respite. Dream after dream, Hawke’s failures were highlighted. They continuously saw their friends dying in horrific manners with no means of rescue. If Hawke’s friends were not killed by something else, Hawke was the one that did the killing, unable to stop themselves. It was Hawke’s greatest fear – to be the source of pain that they tried so hard to fight against.


	9. Dareth shiral

Prompt 9 – take me instead / run / ritual sacrifice

Background: **DA:I Trespasser spoilers (kind of).** **This is all AU.** Every hundred years, the Elvhen people gathered for the sacrifice to the Evanuris at Arlathan.

-

Elvhen cities bustled in anticipation, especially Arlathan. Every Elvhen settlement celebrated in their own way, but Arlathan held the largest of the festivities. The Elvhen pantheon would gather together to witness the offerings their people brought them, be it luxurious fabrics or handmade trinkets. The wealthy and those with influence looked upon the holiday with an avaricious thrill. When the Evanuris were gifted these gifts, benevolence from them lasted for decades. This, of course, only benefited those who were in privileged positions.

The rest of the people bustled with nervous anticipation. To them, this was a reminder that the Evanuris were exceedingly powerful. Every century the pantheon ensured to give this reminder as a display. It helped squash ideas of rebellion or any devotion to the Forgotten Ones.

This is what the Evanuris led their public to believe, when in fact, the celebration in Arlathan was a massive ceremony of blood magic. At the end of each century, the pantheon could feel their powers begin to wane in the slightest of ways. It was not noticeable to anyone but themselves, but it still struck dread in them. The Evanuris could not afford to be weakened at any time; they could not be seen as vulnerable. If so, they would be in danger of the Forgotten Ones, who would easily take advantage. If the Elvhen people knew that the pantheon were capable of becoming weakened, the Evanuris would no longer be considered leaders. Why would the Elvhen have any inclination to view them with reverence? These worries plagued the minds of the Evanuris before each ritual.

\--

The city of Arlathan was extravagantly decorated. The Elvhen decorated the buildings and statues among the city with various dedications to the Evanuris. Children made dolls in the likeness of the Creators and placed them in front of their homes. The adults made copious amounts of food and various drinks for their family members that visited; the smell of freshly baked goods hung heavy in the air. Glittering garlands and streamers imbued with magic, allowing them to twirl and twist on their own, lined the pillars in the city’s large central square. There were jesters and bards joyfully going around the square, interacting with various people and their families. The air held a jovial quality, which contrasted with the atmosphere in the main palace. The only odd thing the people noticed was the surprising lack of spirits every time the holiday came around.

In the weeks leading to it, all unnecessary visits to the palace were prohibited. Any non-essential workers or servants were sent home to their families for the holiday and the palace operated on a skeleton crew. Tension was heavy in the air the day of the ritual. None of the Evanuris enjoyed murdering their own under the guise of celebration. Throughout the years, there were numerous wars and disagreements that resulted in mass casualties, but this was different. The Elvhen were unknowingly celebrating death under the disguise of worship.

Mythal sat alone in her chambers at her large crystalline vanity. She hated this event. There had to be other ways for them to regain power aside from physical sacrifices, but there was none she could find. They had no choice. She did not want to sacrifice her people for such a reason, but if she did not, she was afraid of how her family may retaliate. Of what the Forgotten Ones would do to her family. Mythal could not afford to be weakened, as she was the only one who was capable of protecting the Elvhen. The only one who would freely give her life to protect the people. She was not without her own faults, and Mythal knew this, but the least she could do was ensure some protection to the Elvhen.

A light knock on her glass doors took her out of her thoughts.

“You may come in.”

Elgar’nan strode in her chambers, clad in heavy robes and adorned in gold. A crown composed of fire crystal sat upon his braided ebony hair.

“Why are you not ready, my love? It is near time; our children are already waiting.”

His boots made soft thuds on the white marble flooring as he walked toward her. He stopped behind her gilded chair, wrapped his arms around her, and whispered, “Come, we must do this. You know it is necessary.”

She leaned back and pressed her cheek against his, the warmth was welcomed against her cool skin. After a few moments, he let her go and looked at her reflection in the mirror. He grabbed the brush placed on the corner of the vanity and began to run it softly through her golden waves. No words were exchanged as he brushed her hair. Afterwards he weaved her hair in a simple braid, knowing she would not want anything intricate. While he walked in her closet, she stayed in her seat and observed the green tint of the sky through the window. He returned with the simplest crown she owned; it was also the only crown she deemed appropriate for the ceremony. It was a thin, modest silver plaited crown. He placed the crown snugly atop her hair and gave her shoulders a soft squeeze before he left.

She looked at her reflection a last time before standing up and waving a hand in front of her dress. It changed from a soft blush to a mixture of deep blue and the faintest hint of green, resembling the deepness of the night sky. Mythal exited her chambers and made her way to the grounds. The clicks of her heels echoed in the grand halls, and her fingers began to flutter in unease.

As she arrived at the grounds, Sylaise was the first to greet her, with June close behind. Her daughter sweetly smiled as she approached Mythal. Sylaise was draped in a dress garnished with differently colored crystals, and her hair was woven in a tight bun with iridescent threads throughout.

“Mother! We were beginning to worry,” Sylaise said as she hugged her mother. Mythal softly sighed and returned the hug.

June made his greeting after Sylaise’s with a simple kiss to Mythal’s left cheek. June was dressed in layered brown and black robes. His ears stood out with bright pearl earrings that circled the helix of his ears.

Andruil came up to Mythal next, but was not followed by Ghilan’nain, who was in conversation with Falon’Din. Andruil was in a loose dress of reds and browns, her ears decorated in many golden loops. Multi-colored bangles lined her forearms and a wooden crown sat on her temples.

“Like Sylaise said, we were staring to worry. Sooner we get this done, the better,” Andruil stated as she gave her mother a quick hug.

Falon’Din, Dirthamen, and Ghilan’nain then came to her. The twin brothers wore similar outfits, both were in their most elaborate armor. The armor was a blend of silver plating, thickly layered cloth, and a tight sash at the waist. Falon’Din wore the black version, the silver plating blinding in the sun, while Dirthamen wore the deep purple. Her sons quickly greeted her before engaging in conversation with one another again, and Ghilan’nain made her turn. Ghilan’nain was in a simple white gown that had a short train. The gown was enchanted so that gold shimmered and shifted on the dress in the daylight. Her white hair was worn down and a bone crown resembling halla horns sat on her head.

Elgar’nan spoke after everyone made their introductions, “Let us begin now. The sun is still high, and I would like us to be done with this before nightfall.” He made a motion to some servants to bring the chosen sacrifices to the private gardens they were currently at.

The Evanuris preformed the ritual discreetly before appearing to the people of Arlathan and enjoying the frivolity. The sacrificing typically took hours to complete, much due to Falon’Din wanting to go through his group one by one, instead of all at once. The rest usually tried to be quick about the situation and made sure the deaths of were quick and relatively painless.

Mythal walked to the center of the lush garden grounds and turned around to face her family to notice they looked thoroughly confused. With a small flicker of her hand, she cast a large barrier over the grounds so no one could leave nor enter.

“What is the matter, Mythal?” Elgar’nan questioned worriedly.

“We will not perform the ceremony.”

Everyone’s faces contorted further in confusion.

“What are you saying mother? I don’t understand. Did you figure something out in your research? If not, we need to hurry and finish this. I am due to be going further south tomorrow,” an annoyed Andruil stated. Her siblings stayed silent.

“Love, what are you speaking about?” Elgar’nan questioned her again.

“I am resolute in what I said. There will be no ceremony today or in the future. I know it frightens us to feel our powers wane, but we must endure. I am tired of wasting Elvhen lives.”

“It is not a waste if something is to be gained from it, mother,” Falon’Din responded, his words laced with irritation.

“The Elvhen depend on us, they look up to us, they _worship_ us, son. Many Elvhen lives were already lost due to our ascension, but this is something we can prevent. We will _not_ hold the ceremony.”

“Then, what are you proposing?” Ghilan’nain interrupted.

“It depends on whether you can accept what I am saying. I will not waver on the subject, so do with that how you will.”

“Mythal. Please stop this nonsense and bring the barrier down, now. I do not wish to argue,” Elgar’nan told her, anger slowly rising. He was trying to ignore the possibility of inflicting harm on his Mythal. 

“No.”

Mythal’s children were the first to attempt to strike their mother down in desperation. Mythal knew she would not win the fight, as she made no attempt to harm her children in return. She simply did her best to block and evade. Despite their misgivings, they were still her children, and she did not have it in her to hurt them. She bitterly chuckled at the thought. The people who were brought for the ritual had families, had lives of their own. How many had she slaughtered to retain her position as a part of the Evanuris? It saddened her that she could not recall how many she'd murdered.

The skies darkened and thunder rolled across the clouds; lightning danced in the sky. The fight among the pantheon lasted for days due to Mythal’s will. Servants, generals, and diplomats all watched the fight occur from the palace. Some tried to break the barrier Mythal had produced but failed. All they could do was watch in shock as they imagined the consequences and aftermath that the Elvhen would bear. The mixture of pain and anguish that Elgar’nan wore upon his face was something that the onlookers would not forget.

Elgar’nan carried Mythal’s lifeless body through the palace toward the uthenera chambers below, followed by their dazed and horror-stricken children.


	10. Just why, Solas

Prompt 10 – blood loss / internal bleeding / trail of blood

Background: _**TW: Limb removal.**_ **Trespasser spoilers. Slight AU.** Takes place immediately after Solas leaving the Inquisitor in front of the eluvian. Quizzy here is female, but her race, specialization, and whether she is befriended or romanced to Solas is up to you.

-

The eluvian before her was a dull grey, deactivated after Solas exited through it. She just stared at it dumbfounded, filled with more questions than before. How? Why? Mainly, why he couldn’t remove the anchor from her left hand. He was able to prolong the mark from killing her seconds ago, why couldn’t he just remove it? Why have the power to create the damn thing but have no safe way of removal? This fucking thing! All his fault. The Inquisitor knew that it was silly to place all the fault of the anchor on him, as she was the one that interrupted Corypheus, but she needed – wanted to put more blame on Solas. Everything else was already his fault.

The anchor flared and an explosion of green erupted around her. She cried out in agony as she heard her companions run to her. The other eluvian must have opened and allowed them through.

“Stop! Don’t come any closer!” The Inquisitor yelled at them from her crouched position. Whatever Solas did to “help” with the anchor was apparently useless, it was blasting massive amount of energy again. It began happening while they were chasing the Viddasala, and the Inquisitor quickly learned that it was capable of harming her companions. She had no control over the intervals of the blasts or how much energy was released. She didn’t think she did, at least.

The Inquisitor involuntarily screamed again as another surge came from her palm. Her companions stared at her in frustration and confusion, not knowing how to help. She looked down at her left hand and saw the slow crawl of a glowing green creep through her veins, up her forearm. In desperation, she clawed at it. The Inquisitor was at a loss, she had no idea of how to remove the anchor or any specific knowledge of magic to prevent it from killing her at that moment. The strongest blast yet came from her palm, the radius large enough that it knocked her companions off their feet.

Dorian, Iron Bull and Cassandra quickly regained their footing and stood back up. The Inquisitor had passed out. Cassandra looked at Dorian, silently wondering if he could do anything. Dorian responded by giving her distressed body language. He had no idea what to do.

The Inquisitor stirred back to consciousness.

“I-Iron Bull….”

“Boss! What is it? Can we approach now?” Iron Bull asked hurriedly.

“If…if it isn’t done now, I won’t make it back to Halamshiral.”

“What do you mean, Inquisitor? What needs to be done?” Cassandra questioned as she took a step closer. Her voice shook with worry.

The anchor had another surge, although smaller. The Inquisitor coughed several times before speaking again.

“I think I can hold it back for a short time, but you have to be quick. I hope your axe was sharpened, Iron Bull. I need…you to remove my arm. Please, I don’t know how long I may be able to delay the anchor,” the Inquisitor replied through gritted teeth.

Iron Bull nodded in determination and turned to Dorian. This wasn’t the first time he had to do something like this.

“Dorian, we need a belt. Fast.”

Dorian quickly undid an unnecessary belt he had on his armor and passed it Iron Bull, understanding what was happening.

“Wait, Bull. Dorian is the only one here with magic, fire to your axe first may help prevent infection. I think,” Cassandra wondered aloud.

“Yeah. It should also help cauterize the wound,” Iron Bull responded.

Dorian nodded in agreement and did as Cassandra suggested. They all walked toward the Inquisitor. Dorian placed a barrier in front of all of them in the case that the anchor suddenly released energy again. He knew his barrier wouldn’t stand a chance against the anchor, but it was a nice false comfort.

“Cassandra…I need you to hold the arm. Dorian keep the barrier up.”

The Inquisitor was hardly conscious has they arrived before her. Tears and sweat rolled down her cheeks as she looked at them.

“Hang on. This’ll hurt, but I’ll try to make it fast,” Bull told her sympathetically.

Iron Bull looked at her arm. The green in her veins had already crawled up to her elbow.

“Shit. I’m going to have to go above the elbow,” Iron Bull remarked as he tied the belt below her shoulder. He gave a last glace to Cassandra and Dorian.

“She might move. A lot. Hold on tight, Cassandra. I need to make the cut as clean as possible.”

Iron Bull held the axe firmly as he began the incision above her elbow, there was a quiet hiss as the hot blade came in contact with the skin. The Inquisitor let out a warbled scream. The axe cleanly cut through her skin, fat, and muscle. The Inquisitor finally passed out. It was now at the humerus. Iron Bull took a deep breath and applied force to grind through the bone without snapping it.

Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Dorian let out the breaths they were holding and looked at each other.

“Well…what do we do…with _it_?” Dorian asked as he gestured toward the severed arm. There was still magic emanating from the anchor, but it was greatly subdued.

“I suppose we bring it with us,” Cassandra replied, looking away from the scene before her.

Dorian made a face as he took off his cloak and wrapped the arm in it. Iron Bull examined the incision. The heat from the axe’s blade cauterized well enough, blood was no longer freely seeping.

Iron Bull gingerly scooped up the Inquisitor and told the others, “We should hurry back. I don’t know how much blood she’s lost or how injured she is.”

The group made their way through Solas’ maze of eluvians to return to Halamshiral, noting that each eluvian they passed through promptly became deactivated. All of them ignored the Inquisitor’s warm blood that slowly dried on their armor and skin.

\--

The Inquisitor heard voices in the distance, but she did not know who was speaking or understand the topic of the conversation.

“Her fever is very high. The odds of her survival are decreasing.”

“Does she still have that magic, from the anchor?”

“I honestly do not know. I do not think it’s likely that she does.”

The conversation continued, but the words and sentences became muddled. Memories flashed before her as she started to feel the searing pain radiating up her left shoulder and across her chest. The Inquisitor staggered between unconsciousness and consciousness for some time before finally settling in a painful sleep. A painful sleep filled with scattered dreams of a mournful wolf.

The Inquisitor slowly awoke to more voices.

“Do you think it possible? Could her arm be regrown?”

“There have been a few anecdotal reports of a healer being able to regrow a limb, but…it is a risky chance. We’d need a healer with an elaborate understanding of anatomy. If a muscle is in the wrong place…well, you can imagine how that would play out.”

“You will have my full resources. Find a healer quickly and quietly. She will want her arm back.”

“Is it gone? The anchor?” The Inquisitor sluggishly asked through a sore throat.

“Inquisitor! Yes, yes, it is,” Leliana responded as she walked towards the bed the Inquisitor was on.

“My friend! I am so glad you’ve pulled through.” Dorian emerged from behind the shadows of Leliana’s Divine robes.

She chatted with them for a while and was visited by other friends who were curious about her condition, but she was distracted by the thought of having her left arm back. Would it be truly possible? She sighed. Did she want her arm back or not? She decided was a problem for another day.

\--

The Inquisitor had settled on the attempt to regrow her left arm. If Solas wasn’t out there trying to destroy half of Thedas, she would have been fine with just surviving the removal of the anchor. She had grown quite accustomed to not having her left arm, Harritt even created a custom crossbow that fit around the remaining area and her shoulder. But she unfortunately needed all she could to try to stop Solas, so this experimental procedure was just another thing to blame him for. The Inquisitor now was about to undergo another extremely painful situation because of his idiocy. She swore to herself that if the healer was successful, that her left hand would definitely have to punch Solas at some point. He deserved that at the _very_ least.

“Are you ready? The herbal drink you had earlier should hopefully ease some of the pain,” the Tevinter healer told her. Over the last several months, Dorian used his pull as Magister to covertly find a healer willing to travel and help.

As the healer was finishing his preparations, Dorian grabbed the Inquisitor’s right hand in solidarity. She nodded toward the healer when she was ready to begin.

It felt like her whole body was on fire as the healer wove the sinewy strands of muscle together. The process was long due to the healer's need to constantly stop and observe how the new flesh and bones were constructed. When he was certain that her forearm was as anatomically correct as possible, he then worked on the intricacies of cartilage and bone for her hand.

The last thing the Inquisitor saw was the healer’s sleeves drenched in her blood.

Sweat lined her brow as she awoke. Soft rays of moonlight entered through her window, and she waited for her vision to focus in the darkness. What had happened? Her mind felt like a scrambled mess. Minutes later, she remembered – her arm!

The Inquisitor flexed her left arm in the moonlit room. It had been so long since the Conclave that she forgot what her left hand looked like without the anchor. She noticed that the positions of her veins and the creases on her arm and hand were different. It didn’t feel like her arm, because it _wasn’t_ her arm. Her arm was being studied by some mages sanctioned by Divine Victoria. Anger welled up in her again. She was _definitely_ going to punch Solas.


	11. True grey

Prompt 11 – defiance / struggling / crying

Background: **Trespasser spoilers.** **Slight AU**. Iron Bull’s point of view of becoming and being a Tal-Vashoth. Dorian/Iron Bull pairing implied.

-

“Chargers, retreat!” Iron Bull yelled without hesitation to the Chargers on the cliff across from him. As he saw Krem and the others run to safety, secret relief escaped from him. There was no way his Chargers were going to be overtaken by damn Venatori, no damn way. If his Chargers were to die in combat, it would be against something _worthy_ to die for, not some weak Tevinter mages. Iron Bull used these thoughts to distract from the worry and emptiness that grew at the pit of his stomach. He would not let it creep up and prevent him from finishing the mission, or what was left of the mission since the Venatori escaped.

Explosions shook the cliff Iron Bull, the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor’s companions stood on. Fire spread through the entirety of the Qunari dreadnought and the ship slowly sank below the Storm Coast’s harsh currents. Eerie silence filled the air from the sudden absence of fighting.

He felt everyone’s gaze on his back. The Inquisitor, Dorian, and Varric all stayed silent.

“Well, Boss! I think it’s time to make our way back to Skyhold. Our redheaded spymaster will want to know what happened,” Iron Bull said coolly to the Inquisitor while turning to them.

“Bull…” The Inquisitor began to say, but Iron Bull dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.

“Let’s meet up with the Chargers. I’m sure Krem is waiting for us,” Iron Bull said with a smile as he began to walk down the cliff. He felt a quick pat on the back from the Inquisitor, but the entire walk was quiet.

“Boss!” Krem exclaimed and the Chargers ran excitedly to Iron Bull as the party approached. Iron Bull ran the rest of the way to them eagerly. The Inquisitor and other companions hung away from the group to give them some privacy.

Everyone decided the best recourse would be to begin their trek back to Skyhold the following morning.

Iron Bull made sure to act as normal as possible, which included telling jokes and drinking a large amount of ale. He got weird looks and sympathetic gazes throughout the night, but he ignored them. It was easier to ignore the meaning of those weird looks, to ignore the consequence behind saving the Chargers. To ignore that he failed a mission as a Ben-Hassrath. To ignore that he failed the Qun. And that he was no longer a part of the Qun. He was now a fucking Tal-Vashoth. He always figured he would be dead before he could even consider becoming a Tal-Vashoth.

Iron Bull was the last one awake, aside from the requisition officer on post. He quietly retired to his tent despite knowing he would get no sleep. One the way, he looked up at the night sky and simply observed how pretty it was. Par Vollen had nice nights, also. Not that he would ever get a chance to see them again. Inside his tent, he stared at the canvas for much of the night because every time he closed his eyes, he saw the explosion of the dreadnought. In just a few moments his entire life had changed. He lived for the Qun before, but what did he live for now? Who was he if not a Hissrad and Ben-Hassrath? He trained his entire life to become Ben-Hassrath, but now that was gone.

Iron Bull felt the stinging of tears in his eyes and scowled. Eventually he decided that thinking of the Qun was a waste of his time and spent the rest of the it trying to recall all the redheads he’d bedded.

\--

The trip back was terrible. So many people kept trying to start awkward conversations with him. Dorian was the exception, though. Dorian was quiet for the majority of their return to Skyhold. Iron Bull even noticed that the Tevinter mage avoided eye contact with him, but he brushed it off as some odd Vint thing.

Iron Bull took deep breath when they finally arrived at Skyhold. He went to the familiar tavern immediately after he removed his armor and changed his clothing. The atmosphere of Herald’s Rest was welcoming. He never thought he would miss a tavern, but he did. Iron Bull grabbed a strong drink from Cabot and sat in his usual spot and saw Krem sitting in his own corner. Iron Bull raised his mug at Krem, and Krem did the same back. It was nice to finally be back in Skyhold.

Iron Bull observed the patrons and listened to their idle gossip. Before as a Ben-Hassrath, he took mantle in the tavern to get pivotal information and to seem like an “approachable” Qunari to everyone. People came to the tavern to unwind and forget their day. They often also had loose lips. Iron Bull was able to send valuable information to the Viddasala due to his post in this tavern. But now, he didn’t have to keep a keen ear on the patrons. He didn’t need to do anything, in fact. He could just _be_ a patron.

Dorian rapped his knuckles on the table to Bull’s right to catch his attention. Iron Bull flashed him a smirk.

“What’s a Vint like you doing outside of the library?”

Dorian gave a small smile and sat in the chair across from Iron Bull. His face was serious as he looked at Bull.

“I apologize,” Dorian said slowly.

“What are you apologizing for, Dorian?”

“For…for Tevinter. I’m no fan of the Qun, you know that Bull. But I apologize that my _fellow countrymen_ are what…what took you away from the life you knew.”

Iron Bull was silent and just stared at Dorian, Dorian just fidgeted in response and smoothed his mustache.

“Well…I just wanted to come by and say that, Bull. I’ll leave you be,” Dorian remarked when Iron Bull failed to respond and proceeded to leave. 

“Sit back down, Dorian.”

Dorian slowly sank back in the chair.

“I appreciate your apology, Dorian. Although, it wasn’t like Tevinter was that great to you either.”

Dorian gave a sad chuckle and replied, “You are quite correct, Bull. Quite correct.”

Silence filled the air for a few moments before Bull spoke again.

“I don’t regret it. I’d save the Chargers again given the chance.”

“They are called the Bull’s Chargers for a reason, aren’t they?”

Bull laughed at Dorian.

“Yes, yes, they are.”

Dorian and Iron Bull spent a good amount of time talking and trading stories among one another. Iron Bull knew that the next time they met up, he’d be sure to tell Dorian that his door was always open.

\--

Two years later, Vivienne, Iron Bull, Sera, and the Inquisitor found themselves in the chamber holding the “Dragon’s Breath” that the Viddasala was trying to protect. The Viddasala and various other Qunari emerged from their hidden places.

“Hissrad! Please, now! Vinek kathas!” The Viddasala yelled at Iron Bull.

“Not a chance, ma’am,” Iron Bull shouted defiantly.

The Viddasala calling for Iron Bull stirred up the emotions in him. Emotions he had pushed down for two years. Memories of the Tamassrans that took care of him when was younger, the excitement of fulfilling his first official mission, and just being a loyal member of the Qun rushed to him. In this chase of the Viddasala and the Dread Wolf, he had already killed plenty of Qunari, but killing them now felt personal. Throughout the last two years, Iron Bull occasionally found himself lamenting about the Qun in small ways, but now he knew where he stood in the struggle of his identity. He _was_ a Tal-Vashoth and finally proud of it.


	12. Elvhen such as I

Prompt 12 – broken down / broken bones / broken trust

Background: **Trespasser spoilers. Slight AU. **A male mage Dalish Inquisitor is tracking Solas. He will remain nameless; his name and vallaslin are up to you. For simplicity, Elvhen = ancient elves.

-

He fiddled with the crossbow that was specially crafted after his amputation. It fit snugly and securely but occasionally was an irritation. He named it, “Baby Bianca”, specifically to humorously annoy Varric.

“Come on, stop fidgeting. The sooner we get finished, the better. Shit, this place is creepy,” Sera grumbled as the two of them headed toward underground elven ruins at midnight. The Inquisitor and Sera carefully made their way to the entrance of the ruins, it fortunately seemed like no one else had been there yet judging by what they could see of the forest floor.

The Inquisitor had been splitting his time between Tevinter and Ferelden. In Tevinter, he was secretly communicating with a band of agents that he hired to track Solas’ whereabouts and plans in the region. The group was given a good amount of rein in their decisions and missions, as the Inquisitor did not want to be formally associated with them. Formally, he was seen as someone scrounging around doing random assignments for Divine Victoria. In reality, he was running around with Sera and a few others doing jobs as “Red Jenny”.

He and Sera were in the Tirashan forest at the eastern edge of Orlais. It was only the two of them, which he knew was considerably dangerous, but he could not afford to waste time to assemble the Red Jenny crew. A week ago, Dorian told him via the communication crystal that his team in Tevinter found evidence that there were uthenera chambers in Tirashan. It was already well known that the grounds of Orlais were once home to the Elvhen, but there had been reports of strange looking elves roaming around Halamshiral and Northern Antiva. Even Varric had sent correspondence corroborating similar reports near Kirkwall. Solas was sending his people to bring more of the Elvhen out of uthenera.

This scared the Inquisitor. While Solas was obviously more powerful than the average Elvhen was, the Elvhen were still far stronger than their modern counterparts. He figured it had to do something with their bond or connection to the Fade. The more awakened Elvhen there were, the harder it would be to try and stop Solas, especially if the Elvhen were anything like Abelas. If going by what they encountered at the Temple of Mythal was any indication, the Elvhen would probably not try to stop Solas in any capacity. It _would_ be a nice change of pace if some decided to actually try and fight against the Dread Wolf.

When the Inquisitor received the information from Dorian, him and Sera were in Val Royeaux. It took days by horseback to reach Tirashan, so he decided it would be best if the two of them just went alone. They were going to examine the chambers and hope they had not been already disturbed. If they had not, he would send word that the Elvhen were to be removed and relocated somewhere secure. If they had, then they would just return and wait for more news from Tevinter or Divine Victoria. 

They arrived at the chamber’s entrance. Thick, mossy stone stairs led to a tall, darkened crystal door covered in knotted roots. The Veil was eerily thin here. Sera looked at the Inquisitor.

“Ladies first,” she said nervously while motioning for him to go ahead of her.

The Inquisitor took cautious steps down the stairs, boots shifting the moss. A loud snap abruptly came from behind him. As he quickly turned to look at Sera, he lost his footing on the steps and fell.

“Fuck, Quizzy. I’m sorry! It was just a branch,” Sera apologized in hushed tones.

He gave Sera an irritated glace before standing up.

“Watch where you step. We’re trying to avoid waking them.”

Sera rolled her eyes and made her way down the steps to him. The pair walked rest of the way together to the door.

“I think this is all you,” Sera told him. The door was enchanted with some Elvhen spell, but he could not discern what its nature was.

“Sera…I don’t know how to counteract what the door was enchanted with. Any ideas?”

“I’m not the mage here, 'member?”

With a huff, he stared at the door for a few moments before an idea struck him.

“Help me peel off these branches so we can actually see the door.”

The Inquisitor and Sera cautiously broke the dry, brittle branches and cast them aside. He used his staff to produce a small illumination to see the door more clearly. There was a slightly warping shimmer on the surface dark crystal door.

“Sera, do you see a brazier anywhere?”

“Here, over in the right corner!”

He summoned the veil fire in the brazier and noticed a torch sitting next to it. The Inquisitor thought it was odd that there was a torch already there, but he still took it and lit it.

The Inquisitor slowly approached the door again and raised the torch to it. As he did, there was a quick, bright flash and a spirit hovered in front of them. The Inquisitor took a few steps backwards and stood next to Sera, slightly frightened. He did _not_ want to have to fight Elvhen guardians like the ones from Vir Dirthara.

“Hello,” the spirit said. The spirit was a faint grey, almost smoke like.

“Hello,” the Inquisitor replied and after a slight pause asked, “Which spirit are you?”

“I am a Spirit of Duty. I am here to ensure none disturb the uthenera.”

“Have they been disturbed?”

“No, not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“At some point everything becomes disturbed,” the spirit answered cryptically.

“We’re here to prevent that, ya know. We don’t want them elfies waking up any time soon," Sera added. The spirit turned to look at her and the Inquisitor saw her tense up.

“I know.”

“Wait, you know that we are here to not wake them?” The Inquisitor was surprised.

“Yes, I can sense it. That is your true will for coming here, your objective. Just as mine is to keep these doors sealed.”

“I will be truthful, spirit…If the Elvhen are undisturbed we would like to take them someplace else.”

“That would be wise.”

The Inquisitor took a few seconds to process this, surprised again.

“You would let us relocate them?”

“Yes.” The spirit deemed the conversation over and dissipated. The enchantment placed upon the door soon followed.

“That was weird,” Sera commented while helping the Inquisitor push the door open.

Sera and the Inquisitor entered the chamber, and he used his staff again to provide light. There were more stairs that led deeper underneath.

When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, they were in what looked like elegantly carved black marble and bloodstone catacombs. It was as if they traveled to the time of Arlathan, everything was pristine and untouched. There were no dust or dirt covering the passageway or foliage attempting to grow. The air smelled slightly sweet.

They walked down the passageway; Sera looked down at the floor much of the way. The Elvhen were in oval shaped openings in the walls, laid on soft padding and surrounded by silken blankets. Some of the openings held bodies, while others held skeletons.

“It seems like we made it before them, I guess,” the Inquisitor idly remarked.

“Okay, can we head back up now? Please?” Sera asked in the hopes he would say yes.

Before the Inquisitor had a chance to reply, an echo of rustling came from up ahead. He quickened his pace and she hesitantly followed. The rustling sounds continued, and the Inquisitor made his way through the labyrinth of hallways.

The Inquisitor removed the light from his staff when he and Sera noticed green wisps of magic bouncing on the walls, and the sounds of a growing low hum. It reminded him of Solas’ Elvhen artifacts.

Sera took the initiative in trailing the source of the light and sound, bow ready with an arrow. They carefully walked along the walls until they came upon a short set of stairs. The humming was loud now, the green wisps were bright, and magic was dense in the air.

He steadied the grip on his staff and began to walk down the stairs. Before they reached the final step, an arrow flew and hit the Inquisitor in his left shoulder. Sera immediately stood in front of him and stepped in the small room the stairs led to. She found herself across another elven woman with an arrow also nocked to shoot, while two elven mages fiddled with a large Elvhen artifact. It was similar to the one they found in Solas’ temple.

“Rai?” The Inquisitor questioned as he made his way Sera’s side. 

“Aneth ara. It is a pleasure to see you again, _Inquisitor._ By chance, how did you manage to enter?” The woman made no attempt at lowering her bow. The mages continued messing with the artifact and muttering spells.

The Inquisitor was baffled at what he saw before him. It was unmistakably Rai, the woman had her hair, her vallaslin of Andruil. But how could it be her? Why would she be here? 

“The spirit let us in. Why are you here, Rai?”

“It let _you_ in? We are here on behalf of Fen’Harel. I admit we did not expect you to arrive. Or let alone know about this location.”

“Fen’Harel? What are you talking about? You are workingfor him?”

“With him.”

“Why? Why would you be helping Solas tear the Veil? That could kill everyone!”

Rai snarled as she replied, “He is helping us! Can’t you see this? Our people are dying and always being taken advantage of! You and that girl you brought are the reason why this needs to happen. Elves who have forgotten what they are.”

“Rai…his plan to restore the _Elvhen_ , not help us! He doesn’t even know what will happen when the Veil is removed!”

“No matter the consequences, it’s a chance we are willing to take. Deshanna believes in it too. If we are to die for future Elvhen, so be it.”

“Deshanna?”

“Yes, our Keeper sent me to work with Fen’Harel. Something you would be aware of if you weren't running around serving the Divine of the shemlen.”

He noticed Sera growing antsy beside him, and the Inquisitor knew that there was no way this would end without bloodshed. He readied his staff and they began to fight. Eventually only he and Sera remained in the room with the artifact. The fight was abnormally easy, even with his wounded shoulder. 

The Inquisitor looked down mournfully at Rai’s body. They had grown up together, trained together. Chose their vallaslins together. The scarcity of the Dalish and their nomadic tendencies allowed the clan to have familiarity with one another. But now it all felt like a lie to the Inquisitor. A few months back he had visited Clan Lavellan and chatted with Keeper Deshanna in Wycome. Leliana even had spies sent with him to secretly study the clan for any indications of Solas’ influence. They found none. Deshanna even assured him of her ideas and plans for the clan’s future. He was a fool to believe any of it, a fool to trust her. It was all a lie. The vallaslin he once wore on his face with pride was now a source of shame.

"Uhhh...Quizzy. Quizzy! I think it's time we get going...."

"What is it, Sera? Fine, let's leave." The Inquisitor lifted his head and saw what Sera was fixated on. The Elvhen were awake, and a few had made their way to them. 

That's why the fight was so easy. It was all a trap, the deaths of Rai and the mages served to fulfill the blood magic requisite to successfully disturb uthenera. 


	13. Moving Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it is no longer October (whoops!). I had written a first draft then but never finished it or posted, mainly due to how difficult it was to write. Here's some Halloween in January! And if you happen to recognize the names, I borrowed them from The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance :)  
> -  
> Much thanks to Isk4649 (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isk4649/pseuds/Isk4649), who read this for me (twice! wow) and made helpful comments and suggestions!

Prompt 13 – Water (alternate prompt)

Background: **_TW: !! Animal death !!, drowning, general death. _Slight ****AU. DA:I and DA:O spoilers**. During the beginning of the Fifth Blight, the taint sickness plagues Crestwood. A female healer (nameless) from another village goes to Crestwood to help them contain it. What she looks like/is named is up to you.

-

She sat on her bed and stared out the window. This would possibly be the last moment she had all to herself in a long while, though she hoped that this wouldn’t be the case. The sunlight made her skin tingle in an oddly pleasant way. Was that what a mage felt when they manipulated magic, when they manipulated the Fade? A wet nose on her hand and a lick took her away from her thoughts.

“Tavra, when did you get in here, hm?” She happily exclaimed as a beige female mabari pawed at her. The female healer lowered to the mabari’s level and enthusiastically gave plenty of head scratches. She savored those few seconds of enthusiasm before standing and steeling herself. It was nearing noon, and she had to hurry to meet the others. It was time for her to begin her responsibility as a healer.

The mabari silently watched as the healer checked her satchel and made sure that all of the correct herbs and poultices were packed. The woman looked around the room knowing she was missing something…and there it was. She nearly left without her canvas roll that held her various medical tools, which was probably the only thing that shouldn’t be forgotten. Slightly upset at herself for almost leaving the most important thing behind, she quickly stuffed it in her satchel and gave the room one last glance. When she felt satisfied with this goodbye, she patted her hip for Tavra to follow. 

After she made it down the stairs, she found her mother sitting at the kitchen table, left hand covering her face.

“Mama, is everything all right? Are you all right?” Upon hearing her daughter’s voice, her mother uncovered her face and met her daughter’s eyes with a sad smile.

“I wouldn’t say everything is perfect, but I am okay.”

“I , uh…It’s time for me to leave. If I want to make it somewhat on time, that is.”

Her mother walked to her and grabbed her daughter’s hands. “Is all of this really necessary? You just finished your training, and who knows how long this Blight will last…If this is even a Blight. The Grey Wardens will take care of it. You don’t need to be getting yourself involved. Please, reconsider.”

“It is necessary. Crestwood’s mayor sent a notice of a distress to all the neighboring villages. I can’t just wait here to see if this is even a Blight. If people were to die and I knew I could have helped them, it would eat away at me. I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

“They will die anyways if what is said about this Blight sickness is true. Is it?”

The female healer let out a frustrated sigh and looked away. “It is.”

“Then why go?” Her mother asked, unknowingly tightening the grip she had on the healer’s hands, physically pleading as well as verbally.

“There’s a difference in dying with comfort and dying with pain. I can at least help with that,” the female healer paused before she continued, “Besides, Rian and Brea will be with me. Rian will be taking the lead on our trip to Crestwood. I’ll be protected.”

“Protected? What if you get sick yourself? Or if something happens to Rian and Brea? There’s nothing to protect you against that.”

“Mother…I am running late. I have to go, I’m sorry. They are probably already waiting at the gate.”

Her mother gave a comforting hug. “Be safe.”

“I’ll do my best not to die!” The hug abruptly ended as her mother gave the healer a smack on a shoulder and went to Tavra.

“You will be taking Tavra, as well. Don’t you want to go with her, sweet Tavra?”

“No, mother, I am not taking Tavra! Father is at Redcliffe, and I am leaving for Crestwood. You need her more than me.”

“But Tavra said she wanted to go with you! Are you denying her an adventure?” Tavra let out a confused whine and bark, knowing that something was going on that involved her.

“Fine, as long as it will ease some of your worry. I will take Tavra.”

Her mother’s face held a heavy frown as she turned to her daughter and replied with a serious tone, “Nothing will ease the worry I have for you. Now, go. When you get to Crestwood make sure to write me a letter letting me know the three of you, four of you including Tavra, made it there.”

“Absolutely, mama. Love you.”

“Yes, yes. Go, it’s already getting late for travel.”

She gave her mother a parting smile. The female healer slipped the mabari some dried meat and then the pair made their way to Rian and Brea.

\--

As she had predicted, Rian and Brea were already waiting at the gates for her arrival. Tavra jumped and let out an excited bark as she recognized them. The mabari ran immediately to Brea.

“Wait,” the female healer huffed as she tried to follow her dog.

“Oh!” Brea yelped as Tavra jumped on her unexpectedly. The warrior kneeled to the dog’s level and continued while petting, “Tavra! Hello, honey.”

“Rian, Brea! I’m so sorry! I got a little held up at home. I’m not too late, am I?” The healer asked out of breath when she arrived at the group.

Brea was still entertaining the mabari when Rian replied, “No, you made it in time. If we get started on our way there, we can still make ample timing.…Also, why is Tavra here?”

Brea then interjected while providing belly rubs, “Does it really matter? Having a dog is always a good idea!”

The female healer laughed at the sight of Brea and Tavra. “What a mighty warrior you are, Brea.”

The warrior wiped her hands on her pants as she stood. “No warrior is mighty enough to reject pretty brown eyes like those.”

“Let us get going. We should make it before tomorrow afternoon,” Rian told sternly but obviously mildly amused.

The female healer waited with her dog as Rian and Brea gathered their supplies. After everyone seemed to be ready, the four of them began their trip on foot. There were no wagons or horses on the road, which would have helped them avoid mud. Unfortunately, the occasional paw to a leg and bump from a nose negated that. Luckily, Crestwood was not too far from their own village.

An hour or so along the walk, the female healer took a glance at Rian and observed him walking in those drab mage robes. He was older than both herself and Brea, a man in his fifties. Rian was the official and only healer in her village, sanctioned by his Circle. He was surprised when she approached him in the hopes of training to become one herself since she wasn’t a mage. Despite not being one, she was still insistent. Eventually Rian accepted, but she quickly learned that her absence of magic was quite annoying.

Her village was known for their fighters like Brea, but the female healer herself was no fighter. Not in the least. And until now, Rian was the only healer at this location. He tended to all the villages in the area as well as he could, but it tired him. After she gathered some experience, he could stay nearby their village while she would be the one that traveled and helped at other places. Perhaps if she dedicated some time to training, Tavra could help with certain tasks too. Perhaps.

\--

“It’s getting dark, shouldn’t we make camp?” Brea stated more as a comment than a question after they had been walking for a few hours. They could probably walk for another two, but Brea figured they could just make up the lost time the next morning.

Rian nodded and led them to a suitable place to set their bed rolls. He created a small fire while the girls unpacked their supplies and prepared their rations.

“No, Tavra! Let go!” The female healer yelled exasperatedly as the dog began to pull at her bedroll while she was unrolling it.

“Just let her win, and she’ll let go.”

“Yes, thank you, Brea. So helpful.”

Brea chuckled at how easily the female healer became irritated and then let out a whistle to call the dog. The mabari pulled at the bedroll a few more times and then reluctantly galloped to the warrior.

“Well…we have dried meat and fruit. Do you have any bread, Rian? I don’t think this dinner could get any drier. Even the dog seems unimpressed,” Brea remarked sarcastically.

“I actually did bring bread,” Rian laughed as he responded to Brea, and she rolled her eyes. The female laughed to herself as she sat down on the canvas, idly giving her dog some food. 

The three of them talked until the moonlight was bright and the fire burned low. The majority of the conversation was between Brea and Rian, and the female healer listened more than she contributed.

“So, Rian. Why we going to Crestwood again?”

“Because they have a plague spreading in the village, Brea. You knew this before we left.”

“I remember you saying something about a sickness…but a plague? That sounds worse. Should I be worried? I’m no healer like the two of you.”

“What? No, you shouldn’t be worried. Not too much, that is.”

Brea stayed silent in shock at what he said, and the female healer thought clarification was needed.

“It’s not spread person to person. Only by infected animals, mainly rats.”

“She’s right. Just use that sword of yours on any rat you see,” Rian added and continued as he stood from his spot, “All this talk of sickness has reminded me to gather some herbs before we set off again tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, will you need help, Rian?” The female healer wondered aloud. Did she have enough herbs herself?

“No, I will be fine. I shouldn’t take too long.” Rian left soon after and silence lingered between the women.

The healer looked at Brea in the obscure lighting. Brea was a talented fighter in their village; she was not one to compete in competitions, but her speed and accuracy were evident through drills and sparring. Brea was not wearing heavy armor, instead she wore light leather armor for the trip. The healer supposed the leather armor was far better to travel with due to less weight and increased movement.

“Do you truly want to become a Grey Warden, Brea?” The healer suddenly asked.

Brea was a bit taken aback by the question. “I…I don’t know. What if the darkspawn are real and there are not enough Grey Wardens? I want to make sure that our village will be protected.”

“King Cailan will take care of it, I’m sure. He supports the Grey Wardens, remember? I don’t think the darkspawn will come this far. If there are any. Plus, there’s plenty of Wardens in Ferelden.”

Brea looked at the healer with concern in her eyes and asked, “How can you be so confident? This plague that’s in Crestwood, it’s called the taint, isn’t it? It not from just rats but darkspawn, too. Right?” There was a slight tremor in her voice as she finished talking.

“It’s been centuries since the last Bight, I’m not really sure if darkspawn spread it. But yes, that’s what Rian told me. I still trust King Cailan, though. So far, no one has truly seen a darkspawn yet. I hold out hope that this won’t be a true Blight. It’s been so long, why would one start now?”

A rustle from the trees behind them interrupted their conversation. Tavra growled lowly and immediately rose.

“Rian, is that you? Do you need help?” Brea stated harshly in the direction of the sound, sword drawn. She then whispered to the healer, “Hold Tavra back. If she decides to fight whatever this is, I won’t be able to have a clear opening.”

The healer reluctantly nodded after a few seconds of confusion. Fear would not be helpful right now, so she tried to clear her mind as she firmly circled her arms against the mabari’s chest. 

A mangled and grotesque wolf walked towards them. Its snout was in a snarl, and large amounts of bloodied saliva dripped from the sides. It had multiple patches of fur and skin missing, and the wolf’s eyes were a milky grey. Tavra began barking, which drew the attention of the tainted animal.

Brea banged her sword against a pile of rocks to her right, creating a loud enough noise to have its attention back to her.

The wolf then let out a rumbling growl and a series of coughs, spitting up thick, pinkish mucus and small chunks of flesh. Despite its horrid nature, it was still something struggling to live. 

It alternated looking at the healer and Brea, before sprinting and jumping on the warrior. The force of the jump knocked her to the ground. As the wolf uncontrollably snarled and snapped at her face, she attempted to distract it with her left arm brace.

The female healer tightened her hold on Tavra, using all of her body. Tavra’s fur on the back of her neck was stiff and raised. She was actively trying to pull away from her owner, wanting to help Brea. The healer just kept holding her. Every time her dog pushed or jumped in place, the fur scraped harshly against her left cheek. Tavra’s barks echoed in her ears painfully, making them ring.

The wolf continued to tear Brea’s leather arm brace, saliva and blood spraying as it growled. She squinted her eyes, blinking back what had landed her then. She ignored the smells of rot and sickness the wolf emitted.

Before the animal had a chance to bite at her chest, Brea pushed the sword beneath its abdomen. It continued to mangle at her armor for a few seconds until a long whine came from the wolf, and it fell limp against Brea’s body.

Brea removed the sword and pushed the wolf off her with a sob. The healer then let go of the mabari and ran to the warrior. Tavra went to the body of the wolf and pushed it around with her snout, sniffing and ensuring it was dead.

“Let me see your arm. How much pain are you in?”

“It hurts a lot. I don’t think I can move my hand. “

With a series of winces, Brea tried to unlatch the armbrace but couldn’t.

“Don’t worry about that, Brea. I’ll do it.” The female healer carefully held the arm in her hands while she took off the armor and clothing on it.

Her arm was covered in multiple puncture wounds and gashes. Worse of all were the gashes, some were deep and showed areas of muscle and bone. It was highly possible that Brea’s arm was broken, but it was hard to tell with all the blood.

“What’s wrong with my arm? What is it?”

“I...It’s hard to tell. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

The healer shook her head before responding, “We first need to debride it. There are probably pieces of your clothing or armor inside of your arm. If it stays there, you risk a severe infection.” She ended the sentence there, but she also knew that the saliva and blood from the wolf posed a much larger risk for infection. That would be much more difficult to treat than simply removing the debris in the arm.

“You need to dig through my arm, is that what you’re saying?”

“I…yes. But there isn’t much I can do; I can’t see well in this lighting.” The female healer hoped that her nervousness wasn’t apparent to Brea. Without Rian, there wasn’t much to be done.

“What, you can’t do anything? How are you a healer!”

Brea cradled her left arm and walked away, stifling her cries.

“No, I –” 

There was another rustle from the trees that startled the women, but it was only Rian.

“Is everything okay? I heard Tavra barking and…” His surveyed the small camp before he landed his sight on Brea and harshly chided to the healer, “Why haven’t you treated her yet? That wolf looks blighted!”

“It’s a tainted wolf? I didn’t know, and there was nothing I can do in this lighting!”

“There is always something you can do, haven’t I always said that?”

“I’m sorry, I –”

“Doesn’t matter now, we need to help her. Grab your satchel.”

Rian started another fire and settled everyone close to it.

“Before I can use magic to aid healing, the wounds need to be cleaned and cleared of any foreign objects, do you understand Brea? This will hurt.” When Brea uttered a weak acceptance, he turned to the female healer and told her, “grab the poultices and salves for debridement.”

She rummaged through her satchel confusedly, as she couldn’t remember which to grab.

“The royal elfroot poultices.”

“Here they are.” The healer sighed inwardly as she handed them to him.

Rian gave a poultice for Brea to drink for the pain and used another to clean the torn arm with an unused rag. After the dried blood and various viscous substances were gone, the pair began to meticulously take out the objects imbedded in the wounds, while the warrior remembered her lessons in pain tolerance.

\--

The rest of their trip was silent, even Tavra’s excited behavior was absent. True to Rian’s word, the three of them made it to Crestwood before nightfall the following day. Along their way, the weather drearily transformed with thunder threatening in the distance. The mayor of Crestwood was ready to greet them when they arrived, wasting no time.

“You are here to help, yes? Your village was unfortunately the only one to respond to my notices.”

“Yes. I am Rian and this woman to my left is a healer I trained. And this is Brea, a talented fighter from our village. I apologize that it is only the three of us, but we will help where we are needed.”

“And that…is?”

The female healer answered for Rian, “She’s my mabari, Tavra. We figured it might help those sick to be around her.”

The mayor’s eyes lingered on the healer for a few moments before he spoke to Rian again, “Would you be free to discuss Crestwood’s current situation?”

“We can,” Rian replied as he walked with the mayor. The healer, Brea, and Tavra were left to themselves again.

Still feeling ashamed for the previous night, the healer questioned Brea, “How are you feeling right now?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not a healer, you tell me. Am I fine?”

“I wouldn’t say you are, no.”

“Then why would you ask me?”

When the healer failed to respond, the two of them began to walk on the path where they saw Rian and the mayor go. Tavra broke the silence with an amused bark, she had seen a cat. The female healer took this moment to speak up.

“I have trouble with moments that may require magic. I felt like I was at a loss last night to help you.”

“Magic?”

“Most mages are healers.”

Brea stopped walking and frustratedly faced the female healer.

“You not being a mage has nothing to do with last night. Rian didn’t even use magic until much later. All he did was light a fire, which is something you could have done. What if it had been only you and me? Would you have just let my wounds fester? Or let me die?”

The healer was at a loss for words. Brea was right.

She began to respond but Brea interrupted, “Look, can you find me when Rian returns? I’ll be in the tavern waiting. If this is the tavern, that is.”

Brea walked into the rundown building to their left after finishing her sentence, not allowing the healer a chance to reply. When the fighter didn’t return from the building, the healer settled on a bench across from what she guessed was the tavern. As she waited for either Rian to return or for Brea to come back out, the healer watched as her dog played with the tavern’s tabby cat. Unfortunately for her, the thunder was no longer an empty threat and rain began to pour.

She and Tavra ran in the tavern.

“No animals here, miss! Sorry!” A man yelled from behind the bar.

“Please, it’s raining outside.”

“If I let dogs and cats in each time it rained, that would be every day.”

Brea downed the rest of her pint of ale and slammed her mug on the table.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be leaving. Thanks for the drink.” The warrior tiredly walked to the healer and said, “Let’s just go find the inn.”

\--

It took a lot to convince the innkeeper to let a dog stay indoors, but it was managed. Brea and the healer went to their separate rooms and were informed that they would be given more permanent residences at a later time.

“You can’t be on the bed, Tav,” she tiredly explained and added, “but you can have this blanket, okay?” The healer grabbed an extra folded blanket that was placed at the foot of the bed and shook it before putting it in a corner of the room. Tavra happily pawed at the blanket and nestled until comfortable.

The healer slipped off her shoes and socks before sitting in the bed. She knew that she needed to bathe, but that seemed so exhausting. After a few moments of irritation, she grabbed clean clothing and headed to where the baths were.

Even though falling asleep wasn’t the greatest idea that close to dinner, the healer couldn’t win against how tired and weak her body was. Despite the initial battle of needing to bathe, it was worth it when she returned and sank in the bed.

A voice unexpectedly carried through her door when the healer was finally comfortable, “Miss, I was instructed to let you know dinner is now being served. The mayor would like to talk to you also.”

“Miss!”

“Miss?”

The healer rubbed her eyes and aggravatedly fumbled to the door to open it. Behind it was a petite young woman.

“Miss, food is being served. The mayor would also like to talk to you about arrangements.”

“Thank you. Have you let Brea and Rian know too?”

“Brea?”

“The other woman I came here with.”

“Oh, no! Not yet, I was going to her room now. The mage is already in the dining room.”

“I’ll get Brea instead, you don’t need to worry about it. We’ll be there soon, please let the mayor know. Much thanks.”

She closed the door after the woman left and rummaged for suitable clothes to wear. When she felt appropriate, she bent to give Tavra a head pat and assure to her playfully, “Don’t worry girl, I will bring you back some fresh meat.” There was a happy whine in return.

For the inn being tiny, it had confusing hallways and staircases.

“Room 12, where are you? Why is the numbering on these doors so odd?” It took much longer than necessary, but she eventually found Brea’s room in the next hall.

With a deep breath to fill her with false confidence, the healer knocked. “Brea…I, uh…It’s already nighttime, and they have started serving supper. I’m here so we can go there together. The mayor would like to chat with us.”

There was no response.

“Food will help you recover, too. You’ll regain some energy and it’ll help you fight any potential infection.”

Silence.

The healer’s hand lingered over the doorknob, debating whether it was appropriate to enter. She grasped it and turned; it wasn’t locked. “I’m coming in now, all right? Don’t be alarmed.”

A voice finally came from inside, “No need, I’m awake. I’ll be out soon.”

Brea joined the healer in the hallway and remarked, “Why does your face look like that?”

“My face?”

“You look like you’ve seen Andraste herself or something. Did I upset you that much?”

The healer began to fidget, and Brea just stared at her before speaking again.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“You were right to say what you said.”

“I was, I’m not saying I wasn’t. But now you know, yeah? Since you’re going to be treating all those people.”

They made their way down the hallway when Brea laughed and commented, “How did you find my room, anyway?”

“I got the number from a woman the mayor sent to get us. Mine’s room 11.”

“How is yours room 11 and mine 12? They’re in different halls!”

This exchange between them made the healer feel lighthearted, and she hoped Brea felt the same.

The women joined Rian and the mayor at dinner, which was surprisingly pleasant. The mayor informed them of how desperate the situation was in Crestwood, and the ideas he had discussed with Rian earlier that evening. Starting the next morning, it seemed that their time in the village would be hectic.

Soon enough, the mayor went on his way and the three of them retired to their respective rooms. The healer gave her dog the food promised and sank in the bed once more. She could finally sleep, tomorrow would be a new day. A day where she could properly utilize her skills, magic or no magic. She would be able to help others who were in pain or suffering.

Sounds of nails clawing and fists banging the door woke the healer in the middle of her sleep. Through the haze of early morning light, the healer saw Tavra sitting alertly but not barking. The scratching stopped and the fists banging the door became more subdued. Her heart felt like it was in her throat.

“Who is it?”

A garbled noise answered. The healer threw off her covers, ran to the door, and opened it before her nerve left her. It was Brea sitting on the floor, nightgown covered in spit up blood and pieces of shredded throat lining.

“Brea! What happened? How?” The healer rattled question after question. Her friend’s skin was covered in spiderlike tendrils of black lines and her eyes were completely grey. Open sores lined her lips. After a few weak wheezes and blood seeping from the corners of her mouth, Brea’s lifeless upper body thudded on the wooden floor.

\--

Over the following weeks, Rian took his place underground with the refugees, and the female healer found herself helping the Crestwood residents that were infected. Occasionally, Rian would leave the refugees to help her above.

“How is your level of discomfort, today? I have an elfroot salve if any of your sores are painful,” the female healer asked an older woman whose infection of the taint was far along. The older woman had trouble with speaking, so the healer nodded and began to apply the salve where it was needed. Tavra headbutted the sickly woman while the healer applied the medicine. The older woman’s cheeks slightly lifted.

“Would you like to pet her today?” The women’s cheeks moved a bit more. The female healer gingerly held the woman’s right hand on Tavra’s head and helped her caress the dog.

After she finished applying the salve and confirmed the woman was as comfortable as possible, she left. This was the last person she needed to visit for the day.

Everything had already become a routine for her, a blur of memories. Each day she visited the infected residents, and in the afternoon, she usually searched for medicinal herbs in the rain. This also allowed her mabari to playfully chase nugs or birds. During the night, she prepared for the next day, mixing herbs or poultices, sometimes creating new types of treatment for the infected.

She walked along the worn dirt paths between the homes of the tainted. It unnerved her that despite how hard herself and Rian worked, more and more became sick. This was something that needed to have close contact with something infected, but no one healthy was interacting with anyone or anything with the taint. How were all these people getting sick?

The healer idly walked, eventually arriving at a marshy field. She kept herself busy for the next hour or so looking for stalks of blood lotus and spindleweed. Tavra took this time to become thoroughly muddy.

“Ki-King Cailan is dead! He died at Ostagar!” The healer heard someone shout as she returned to her cottage in midafternoon, arms full of freshly picked herbs. People gathered around the person who shouted, and she heard a flurry of comments. She, like others, slowly drifted to the commotion.

“Impossible! How is he dead? Wasn’t he allying with the Grey Wardens?”

“There is no way he is dead. This isn’t even officially a Blight!”

“It was apparently the Grey Wardens that caused his death.”

As a crowd began to form, she saw the mayor approach the crowd and address them.

“Everyone, this is new information that has not been confirmed yet. It is best if we stay in our homes and avoid speculation until we know more.” This only incited the crowd further.

“Why do we need to stay in our homes? Is something wrong? You said people have stopped getting sick!”

“Are darkspawn truly real? Is this the next Blight?”

Overwhelmed and upset at what the mayor told the crowd, the healer removed herself and walked backed to where the sick were being kept. She lived close to them; it was easier to attend to them when there were any changes in their status. 

She entered the room with Tavra and slammed the door, scaring the dog.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. Here, have this,” she apologized and pulled a snack from her satchel.

Afterwards, the healer hastily threw the herbs and her bag on the desk. The mayor had been lying to the people of Crestwood all this time. Several times Rian and herself reported to him how the numbers were increasing, and that there was no reason why they should. Unless there were darkspawn emerging from the Deep Roads. She knew the reason the mayor was lying to them, but it was cathartic to at least blame someone. The idea of darkspawn alone was terrifying.

The healer took a deep breath and sat at her desk, determined to put her agitation to better use.

\--

Sharp, shrill sounds seemed to be in the distance, followed by echoes of thuds. The female healer ran a hand through her hair and sat up. Her body felt stiff and sore from accidentally falling asleep at her desk. Aside from what she heard, it was unsettling to wake up in a dark room.

Now awake, the shrill sounds and thuds became clear. It was people screaming and fighting. She rushed to the window and squinted to look in the nighttime. Everything looked eerily normal in spite of what she had heard. She did see a few people, but it was difficult to clearly tell what was happening.

“Tavra, where are you?” The dog soon curled up beside her, cowering. She continued by soothing, “it’s okay, we’re okay.”

The crack of snapping wood in the upper left of her room caught their attention. She walked to the corner where the wood snapped, but it all appeared normal to her also. Anxiety began to creep along her spine, but she ignored it. Everything looked fine outside, and everything was fine inside.

Then there was a smack on the door followed by someone screeching, “Let me in, please! I can’t be out here, they are everywhere! Please, help me!”

The female healer huddled on the floor with Tavra, hoping that the person would leave. Rocks began to be thrown at her window, eventually breaking it. The dog barked as silhouettes of hands reached through the window, pulling at the glass. She hugged and held Tavra close to her. There were sounds of more fighting and then a wail. The hands slid from the window, leaving muddled streaks.

She felt coolness wrap around her feet. Liquid. Water? Why was there water in her cabin? Tavra stood and separated from the healer to shake her paws.

The healer stood as well and made cautious steps to the door. It was possible that her small room held a leak, and it was violently raining outside. And people just needed somewhere to hide from the rain, that was all.

She eventually made her way to the door. Her left hand hesitantly hovered over the handle. The last time she opened her door in a situation like this, her friend collapsed and died. She didn’t want to know what was going on behind the door this time. Unconsciously, her hand opened it.

Murky water flooded into her cabin and she lost her balance. She took her time to stand as the water continued to enter, it would be easy to lose her footing. After a minute or so, she was finally confident in her posture. The level of the water almost reached midcalf, so Tavra fortunately didn’t have to swim.

She began to trudge through the water, lifting her knees high, and exited the cabin. Her mabari trotted closely. Noises of fighting were no longer heard, only people’s voices. Everything still looked relatively normal aside from a few of the infected who were also walking through the water. The female healer steadied herself and made her way to the tavern uphill. People there would most likely have answers or an explanation. Rian would have an answer, surely.

An arrow zipped closely near the back of her head and caught a man near her. Tavra immediately ran to where the arrow came from.

“No! Come back! Tavra!” The healer called as she scrambled to where the dog disappeared to, forgetting about the rising water around her. She slipped and fell in it, cutting her legs on the gravel.

“Tavra!” She rasped, her eyes starting to well. A whine and whimper rang out and the mabari didn’t return. The healer sat in the water and cried, oblivious to the dangers around her.

As she sat almost fully submerged in the water, an arrow was shot at her left shoulder. The healer cried out and struggled against the water, coughing as some entered her mouth. While she waded through it to raise herself, she tried to keep her left arm as still as possible.

The healer reminded herself of her goal to the tavern. It wasn’t too far away; she could still make it before the area fully flooded. Her legs bumped something heavy in her frenzy to get away. She looked down and saw the man the arrow hit minutes earlier. Shame filled her momentarily, she forgot about him and was focused on her own trek uphill. His pooled blood shined in the moonlight against the cloudiness. The stained water swirled around her legs. 

No, there was nothing that she could have done, even if she went to aid him before his death. The arrow went through his neck, he was doomed to die regardless. It was time for her to move on, he was already gone. Using the force of her legs, she pushed the body out of her way.

The water was now above her waist. There was no way she could keep walking through it and reach safe ground in time, she would have to swim. The wound burned when it entered the water. Adrenaline increased her focus on moving forward and not on the burning that radiated across her collarbone. The arrow kept shifting and caused the muscles in her left shoulder to randomly seize.

A whiz of another arrow was heard, followed by a scream from someone ahead of her. Realization dawned on the healer; the people here were being killed. Were there darkspawn here as well, was that why? This must have been planned by the mayor, if not him, someone. A flood would kill all those infected with the taint and hopefully any darkspawn in the area, especially those in the caves – the underground where Rian was helping the refugees.

She faltered in her attempt to swim when she thought about Rian and everyone in the caves that would have no means of escape. Whoever planned this was prepared for people to outrun the rising water, hence the need for archers at the edges of this section of the village. If they did that, then all the entrances and exits to the caves were sealed.

It did no good if she died here as well, so she kicked her legs and went forward, relying on her uninjured arm. The level was now significantly deep, deep enough that her feet couldn’t touch the ground any longer without her being completely submerged in the dirty water.

The healer kept her sight in front of her, disregarding anything that was happening around her. She was caught off guard when something repeatedly tried to grab at her ankle. The hand was eventually successful and encircled an ankle. The female healer flailed and hit with her the heel of her free foot at the person holding her back. The other person’s hand dislodged, and she saw the figure disappear underneath the rippling water.

She continued forward. Everything looked so close, she would make it. And when she did, the healer would ensure to find out why the dam was lowered. If it was the mayor, why would he murder his own people? People he talked to everyday and has known for so long?

A different hand reached out and grabbed the exposed shaft of the arrow sticking out from her left shoulder. This person pulled and pulled at it to bring the healer closer to them. She cried out and moved away, further displacing the injury. The tip of the arrow slowly pushed back through the hole in her shoulder, tearing more ligaments.

When the healer was close enough to them, both hands took hold of shoulders and pushed her down to raise themselves above the surface of the water.

Water flooded her mouth and nose. The healer treaded water and waved her right arm frantically in the hopes of freeing herself, but the weight and force of the other person kicking and bobbing to the surface only caused the healer to lower further.

Instinctively, without the healer knowing herself, her mouth opened, and her lungs expanded for air. The water flooded inside her chest and her body tried to cough out the aspirated liquid. It then turned to gasps for air.

The healer’s body continued to have convulsions as she watched the other person swim away from her. The convulsions became more painful, making her arms and legs spasm on their own.

Aside from the searing aches in her chest, it was her head that hurt the most. It felt as if tiny needles were continuously stabbing all around, leaving behind a dull pain each time.

Her ears buzzed and she could no longer hear anything else. Tingles of itchy numbness spread from her arms to her fingers and from her legs to her toes.

She felt her chest heave a few more times and then her body went still. Blackness and tiny silver dots enclosed in on her field of vision. The last thing she saw were the sections of her hair that floated and snaked around her face.


End file.
